The Bill Cases
by HeartOfTheWild
Summary: A spin off series. Instead of a long 'episode', thought I'd try a few short pieces about Bill Hobart. His is a character I think would be fun to explore and develop. As always, I don't own copyright to this character or anything else related to DBM.
1. Chapter 1

**1\. The six o'clock swill.**

He stood in the doorway of the noisy, smoky, Public bar, silhouetted in the harsh Australian light streaming in from behind him. Moving into the cool, dim interior he could smell spilt beer, Durham tobacco and unwashed men. These were the typical smells of a working man's pub at 5.30, just before before the six o'clock swill. Like the tide going out and in, the chatter fell then rose again as he passed through the crowd to the bar. The patrons quickly recognised him, he was well known and liked here, as much as any cop could be liked in a place like this. An honest bruiser; they called him the Bulldog. Bulldog Bill.

Bill approached the bar and the sea of drinkers parted to let him through. Reaching the bar, the publican came over, looked at him and said, 'Usual, Bill?'

'Just a squash, Fred. I'm in uniform,' Bill replied in his gravelly baritone. He handed the publican a coin. Fred came back shortly with a cold glass of perspiring Lemon squash. He handed it to Bill along with his change.

'All good, Fred?' asked Bill

Fred looked at Bill and replied 'No worries, mate.' But his eyes darted to the far corner of the public room and back to Bill again.

'Righty-oh'. Bill dropped Fred a subtle wink. He took a sip of his squash and grimaced. Not his favourite drink by a long shot. Leaning forward, he looked into the mirror behind the bar and scanned the crowd. There, in the far corner at a table, were three young lads drinking heavily. Bill noted who was there, a pair of no-hoper larrikins, Jimmy Crispin and Frank Morse. Thought they were hard men, those two. He'd run both of them in on more than one occasion. But what was young Pete Smith doing drinking with those two? Pete was a hard-working lad, had a real future ahead of him. Had just taken a job at the stock yards as roustabout. Bill didn't think Jimmy or Frank had ever been his particular mates.

Bill turned around casually and leaned against the bar. Sipping his drink, he made laconic conversation with a few of the locals standing next to him.

As Fred began to ring the bell and shout 'Last drinks, gentlemen!' Bill moved away from the bar and let the crowd surge around him. The men jostled him and swore as the rushed to fill their last pots of the night. He walked away from the scrum around the bar towards the group in the corner. They had several full pots of beer already lined up on the table and were cheering as Pete tried to drink one down.

'Chug, chug, chug, chug!' they chanted. Pete upturned the glass into his mouth, throwing his head back to get it all in at once. Slamming the empty glass back on the table he grinned blearily at Jimmy and Frank.

'Alright there Pete?' asked Bill.

Jimmy and Frank jerked around in surprise at Bills sudden appearance. 'Yesh,' slurred Pete, 'All good. Jus' celebratin' me 18th wif me mates 'ere!' He waved his hand expansively at Frank and Jimmy knocking over an empty glass in the process.

Jimmy slung an arm around Pete's shoulder and smiled winningly up at Bill. 'Heeey, Frank! It's the Bulldog! Don't worry old son, us and Frankie here are just helping our new mate Pete celebrate his birthday. Ain't that right Frank?'

'Woof, woof' snickered Frank at Bill.

Bill gritted his teeth. Looking at Pete he said, 'I think you might have had enough, son.'

'Nah, I'm good. S'all good. Grab me another pot there Jims'.' He reached forward and took another full glass out of Jimmy's hand. 'Me mates, jus' drinkin' wif me cobbers.'

'Don't worry, Sarg. We'll look after Pete here. He's our mate.' Said Jimmy insincerely to Bill.

Bill shook his head at them. They weren't making a disturbance. They were all of legal drinking age. He had no grounds to arrest them, but something felt off. Pete was a decent lad with a good upbringing. It wasn't like him to behave like a lout. Fred had called him earlier, worried about the amount of drinking that Pete was doing and the company he was keeping. Seemed he was the one doing most of the drinking while Frank and Jimmy egged him on. Bill knew that it was pay-day today. It would be Pete's first pay on adult wages. He hoped he wasn't drinking it all in one sitting.

Looking at Jimmy, Bill growled, 'Well, look after him, you. I'll be watching.'

Jimmy sneered at Bill. 'Sure thing Sergeant Bulldog. No worries. We'll see him right.' Frank just giggled and made soft woofing sounds under his breath. Given half a chance Bill would have smacked the pair of them. But Lawson had put him on notice. Stop being so handy with his fists or he would be suspended. Bill just shook his head at them warningly then turned and walked back to the bar. Behind him the boys were laughing and making dingo howls. He put his empty glass on the bar, looked at Fred and nodded slightly to him and left the pub.

Come 6 o'clock closing time the pub began to empty. Men drifted out in groups of two's and three's or alone, all in various stages of inebriation. Frank and Jimmy came staggering out last, between them was Pete. He was drunk as a lord and could barely hold himself upright. His arms were around the necks of the two other men as they supported his wobbling steps. He was giggling as he swayed between the men.

'Bloody Hell, he's totally stinko,' said Frank.

Jimmy chuckled. 'Just what we want, the stupid pillock.'

Pete's head swayed and he giggled to Jimmy, 'toopid 'illock.'

'C'mon. Walk, you bloody drongo.' Frank and Jimmy proceeded down the footpath supporting the drunken lad. Staggering they walked around the corner of the pub and down the cross street. As they passed and turned the corner, a dark blue shape slunk out from a dim doorway and followed them.

Bill Hobart walked quickly and quietly, following the threesome. Years as a beat cop had taught him how to walk silently in the heavy soled police boots. He made no noise as he rounded the corner. Slowing slightly, he watched the men as they guided a wobbling Pete up the road and then forcibly turned him into an alleyway. Bill broke into a run, gliding to a stop just before the alley. He leaned forward and peered around the building down the alley.

About 20 yards away he saw Jimmy and Frank suddenly pull away from Pete and push him to the ground. With a cry of 'Oy! wha' you playin' at?' Pete fell face first, just managing to catch himself on his hands and knees.

'Get his wallet!' shouted Jimmy as he raced forward and kicked Pete in the stomach. 'Ohfffff,' Pete moaned, then bent over he began to vomit profusely.

'Bloody Hell!' cried Jimmy dancing back. Frank was standing there laughing. 'Get his wallet you arse!'

'Git it yerself, ya' tosser!' Both man stood there watching Pete heave his guts out into the gutter.

At that moment, as the two men were distracted and facing away from him, Bill raced forward. Before they had time to turn to the sound of running feet, Bill had caught up to them, reached over, grabbed their collars and with a resounding 'CRACK' smacked their heads together.

Frank and Jimmy fell to the ground holding their heads. As one, they shook their heads to clear the stars and gaped up at Bill. Bill pulled out his night stick and shook it at them and growled. 'Scarper. Now. For I run you in for attempted theft.' Scrambling to their feet, they staggered down the alley as fast as possible while looking back over their shoulders to make sure Bill wasn't following.

'Don't forget,' called Bill after them, 'I know where you both live!'

On the ground, young Pete moaned piteously. Bill looked down at him, a disgusted frown on his face.

'You look a right mess, young Pete.' Pete just moaned again and tried to sit up. Bill leaned forward and minding the stained clothes, helped Pete to his feet. 'You're a right proper eedjit, you know that don't you?' Said Bill gently.

Pete looked at Bill and shook his head. 'I don't feel so good Sarge.'

'Not surprised. Well, come along then, let's get you cleaned up and home safely. Can't let yer mum see you in this state.'

...


	2. Chapter 2

**2\. Desk Job.**

Glumly Bill looked at the mountain of paperwork that had been dumped on his desk. Two weeks desk duty. He sighed. It was a bit hard, really, it was only because Ted Simmons had attacked him first. Alright, he probably shouldn't have kicked him as well, once he was down. Guess he was lucky it wasn't worse and Lawson hadn't suspended him. Sighing again he reached for the first report and started to scan it.

Bicycle thefts again. Bill read over the report taken by the front desk Constable. Sad, little kid left his bike outside a Milk Bar and it was gone when he came back. Could just be other kids nicking it. But it was the sixth missing bike report that had crossed his desk this week and it was only Tuesday. Bill tapped his lip with a pencil thoughtfully. All within the same area of Golden Square. He called Ned over to his desk. 'These bike thefts, have you checked Al's scrapyard yet?'

Ned shook his head no. 'Just kids 'borrowing' them, we thought.'

'No, too many to be just kids I think. Al's son Mark is back in town. He has form for petty theft. Thieving little toe-rag he is. Probably be a thought to just have a look around the yard, eh?'

'Right,' Ned nodded and took off.

Bill scanned the next report. Another drunk and disorderly. Been a few too many of those recently too. All happening well after 6pm closing. All arrested close to old Bob O'Brien's place.

'Charlie,' he called out. Charlie looked over to Bill. 'Reckon O'Brien's back in business.'

Charlie nodded. 'I'll check it out.' And off he went.

The clock on the wall ticked out the long seconds. Bill continued to wade through the paperwork, sorting and filing. In the background he could hear Doctor Blake and Chief Inspector Lawson discussing the latest murder case. A young man found stabbed in a back alley. Bill pricked up his ears. Governor's alley?

'Boss?' he called out.

'Yes? What?' growled Lawson. He was still annoyed with Bill for kicking Ted Simmons.

'You said Governor's alley, right?' Lawson nodded. 'I've been keeping an eye on it. Haven't been able to prove anything, but I am sure Jake the SP Bookie has set up shop again. He's got a back entrance to the alley from his store and there have been a lot of blokes hanging about there, lately. Looks like he's got a few of the local lads employed as bag men and runners.'

'Hmmm.' Lawson looked thoughtful. 'Let's go talk to Jake, Lucien. Stay here Bill and mind the shop.' Grabbing their hats, the two men left to investigate.

Quiet settled over the office again. Only the sound of Bill shuffling paper broke the silence. Another report of vandalism at the boat shed. That'd be the boys from Wendouree Grammar boat club. The idiots had painted their club symbol 'WRB' (Wendouree Rower Boys) all over the boats. Idiots. He told Constable Parkinson on the front desk and let him deal with it. Then returned to his desk and soldiered on grimly.

He stretched and yawned and got up to grab another cup of tea from out the back. As he passed the front desk with his cup in hand, Constable Parks entered through the front door of the station with a dishevelled man in an arm look. He marched the man up to the front desk. Bill watched on with interest.

'Found this guy throwing rocks through the second story window of the Crown hotel,' Parks announced to Constable Parkinson on the front desk. 'Hasn't got any wallet or i.d., won't give his name or the reason why he was doing it. He's been arrested for Damage and Public affray.' The man in his grasp struggled and cried out 'Bloody coppers!'

Bill studied the struggling man. 'Calm down Robert.' He said gruffly. He turned to the two constables, 'You've got Robert Newson there. His wife just left him and has been holed up in the Crown with some other bloke. Reckon he just found out where she was and he was making his displeasure known. Isn't that right Rob?' The man slumped in defeat and nodded. Bill reached out and gave Robert a bit of pat on the shoulder. 'Buck up man, these blokes here are understanding sorts. Just let them do their job, it'll all work out in the end.'

Bill turned to resume his deskwork. For the rest of the day he worked on. Officers came and went; more reports were placed on his desk to review, sort and file. He ploughed on through the chaos, dispensing advice where needed, helping out when he could. Finally, he heard someone clearing their throat, looked up and saw Lawson standing in front of his desk quietly looking down at him. 'Yes Boss?'

Lawson read from a list in his hand. 'Today's clear up rate: Mark Spencer arrested for the theft and illegal resale of at least 18 bicycles. Bob O'Brien's illegal grog shop has been shut and he is also under arrest. Robert Newson has been released on a good behaviour bond on your recommendation. The Wendouree Grammar has made recompense and the lads involved will be spending a few weekends fixing the boatshed. Jake Franklin's place has been raided and he's been arrested for illegal bookmaking. One of his customers has admitted stabbing the runner and stealing the day's takings from him.'

Bill just looked up at Lawson and blinked. And this concerned him how? He thought.

'Bill', sighed Lawson, 'Your information lead to every case today being sorted. You're more bloody use to me on the streets than pushing paper about. Pack this in and tomorrow get back out there and do your job.'

A big smile stole over Bill's face. He nodded to Lawson, 'Right Boss,' then cleaned up his desk and went home for the night.

…


	3. Chapter 3

*offensive language warning**homophobic slurs*

 **Revelations.**

Gloomily Bill Hobart pondered his lot. Crouched here, half hidden, he pushed away yet another bit of scratchy shrubbery sticking into a sensitive area. Around the other side of the oleander bush was Constable Stewart Parkinson. A new recruit to the station, Parkinson was alright, if a bit green and wet behind the ears still. It was just on dusk and overhead the flying foxes in the gum trees were squabbling and screeching. The noise they made was bad enough, but as they flew about they would piss and shit all over anyone who just happened to be hiding in a stake-out below their roosting tree. If there had been any other half-way decent spot he and Parkinson would be there, not here, in this fruit-bat hell. Bill's only consolation was that Parkinson seemed to have gotten the worst of the bat-showers so far.

The reason they were hiding in this particular spot at the Ballarat Central Park was just down slope from their hiding place about 100yards away. A rather staid art deco design convenience block had been attracting a bit of attention lately. The shop keepers around the park had made several complaints over the past few weeks about the goings-on here after dark. Complaints had also been made by all the church going 'right thinking' sorts about the unsavoury aspects of the toilet block. Susan Tyneman had been particularly vocal in her objections. The toilet block's relatively isolated position right in the centre of town had proven a magnet for men who were seeking alternative forms of affection.

Bill snorted disdainfully. It wasn't like this spot wasn't well known to the police and those men interested in that type of assignation. Some of the cops would openly joke about the place and refer to an arrested suspect as being 'caught going down Nancy Street.' In fact, whenever an officer felt the need to up his 'quota' of arrests for the month he would stroll down to this park and arrest one or two of the more well-know men who frequented the area. There was a bit of complacency about this and most cops left the men alone as long as they were discreet and no one made a complaint. They rarely would arrest anyone of any importance. And if they did happen to spring someone who could be embarrassed by the situation, well, a bit of cash could make a lot of things disappear. So if a cop needed a quick arrest or two to look good for the boss, or a few extra quid to tide them over until pay day, well, it was handy to say the least.

But some cops were quite happy make life a misery for these men when the opportunity presented. What they were doing was an offense in the eyes of the law, after all. Sad to say, for a long time Bill had been one of these types of cops. He wouldn't hesitate to make an arrest and did not spare his fists. But Bill's recent experience with that French chef , Phillipe had made him ashamed and disgusted with himself. This wasn't to say that Bill had changed his mind about the legality of the situation, or even the disgust he felt for these men, but he was wrestling with his conscience and sense of fair play over how he had treated that man. If Ned hadn't had called him off... Bill had always prided himself on his control. If he beat someone up it was calculated and deserved, or so he told himself.

But he had totally lost the plot when Phillipe had taken a swing at young Ned. Phillipe had looked so much like Father Joseph, similar dark features and same sneering smile. Something inside Bill had snapped that night. All his carefully constructed walls had fallen down. He had been transported back to a time and place he had tried hard to forget. He remembered the confusion and shame all over again. He could smell the incense that lingered on the priests' robes. Recalled the rough hands and the pain. The feeling of helplessness of a child being abused by a trusted, older man. A man who up until that afternoon in the boys choir change room, he had respected, looked up to, and yes, loved. After that day, Bill would refuse to attend choir practice, would fight if they tried to make him. Bill always thought his father had suspected something, as he never insisted that Bill return to practice. But neither one of them could talk to each other about such things. Bill was too confused and ashamed. His father too stern and strict. It was with some relief that Bill's voice broke later that year and he had an honest excuse for no longer being a member of the boys' choir.

Bill had dealt with his feelings as best he could on his own. His father had taught him to fight his own battles and not whine. His parents forced him to attend church every Sunday with them. It was a trial to see and hear Father Joseph every week. The other boys in the choir made sniggering comments for a while, but it wasn't too long before they had a new 'favourite' of Father Josephs' to giggle about. Bill counted himself lucky that it had only happened to him the once and he felt for the other lad. As soon as Bill was old enough to not attend church he just stopped going. If Father Joseph was an example of God's grace he wanted none of it. He joined the local AFL team, revelling in the hard, dirty sport. He became handy with his fists on and off the field. Fighting gave him a fierce joy and relieved some of the anger that was always simmering just below the surface. Joining the police force had saved him. Here was a job that appreciated a hard man who could fight. He could channel the anger in his gut into a positve. In the police he felt he had become a protector of the weak and innocent.

When he had heard last year that Father Joseph had died he was he was glad the old bastard was dead at last. But his anger did not receed and that night in Phillipe's home the decades of bottled up pain and shame and rage had boiled over. Bill had beaten the man so badly that he feared he had killed him. He certainly had hurt him very badly. It was only by great luck and Dr. Blake's careful investigation that Bill had been cleared of the suspicion of murder. Bill had drunk more whisky in that week than he generally did in a year. For once he understood Dr. Blake's need for the stuff. It had been the only thing that had driven away the demons.

Now Lawson had put him on this duty! The good people of Ballarat were insisting that the park area be cleared of 'deviants'. Bill knew that the Boss was testing him. Lawson had told him to lay off the fisticuffs, to be an example of good policing to young Parkinson. They were to catch the offenders, take names and let them go with a warning. Bill hoped he could comply. He owed it to Lawson to make an effort.

'Hist!' Constable Parkinson brought Bill's attention back to the present. He looked over to the toilet block to see a man lingering by the doorway. As he watched another man strolled up the path from the far end of the park. Greeting the man in the doorway, they both moved inside the building.

Motioning to Parkinson to follow, Bill quietly came out of hiding and swiftly moved to the ablutions block. Torch in hand he entered the men's section. He stopped just in the doorway and swiftly turned the torch on and flashed the beam into the faces of the two embracing men by the urinals. In that swift second Bill recognised something in their expression before it changed to startlement and terror. They both recognised Bill and were fearful of what he would do.

'How odd', Bill thought. 'That was the same look Dr Blake gives Jean Beazley. Longing and yearning. Do I look like that when I look at Ann?'

The two men broke apart and turned to run. Parkinson leapt forward with his nightstick swinging. 'Stop right there you bloody poofters!' he cried. The men froze. He swung back to strike, but Bill clamped his hand over the outstretched arm.

'Steady on son, no need to get physical,' he said.

Parkinson snarled, loathing evident on his face. 'Sarge, these filthy pillow munchers need a good belting. Disgusting they are!'

Bill glanced over at the two frightened men. He recognised both of them. One was a leading merchant in town, who had a wife and two kiddies. The other was a young shop clerk that he had arrested here previously. Bill felt an incredible sorrow welling up inside, for the wife and kids, but strangely, for both the men. In that instant Bill understood something that he had struggled with for years. What happened to him wasn't his fault, he wasn't to blame. Nor was it these men's fault. These were two grown men quite capable of making their own choices. They were not forcing themselves on a child. Father Joseph had been an evil man. He could never forgive or forget what the Father had done to him and other boys. But Bill realised that he didn't have to punish these men for something that had happened to him, they were not responsible. And he couldn't punish them for doing something they clearly needed and desired. They were both caught in a trap of societies expectations of normal. And they didn't fit. He didn't have to like it, but he also didn't need to make their situation worse for them.

Bill drew a breath. 'Well Parky, I reckon we do what the Boss said. Give them an warning and let them go. They haven't run, they haven't fought us, they can go quietly.'

Parkinson slapped his nightstick into his hand repeatedly. 'Who's to know they didn't run at us, eh?'

'I'll know, son.' replied Bill gruffly, then he turned and looked at the two men. 'I am putting you both on notice. I see you around here again, it's the cells. No questions, no favours. Do you both understand?'

Both men nodded and started to leave, but Bill had more to say. 'Tell anyone else you know who uses this place that it is off limits from now on. I don't give a fat rat's arse what you do in behind closed doors, but stay away from here. Keep it out of the public eye. Understand?' Nodding again, the men made a dash for the exit. Parkinson wheeled around and tried to boot one on the rear as he fled but Bill held him back.

'I SAID do NOT get physical!' and he roughly shook the young constable, rattling his brains a bit.

Parkinson was confused. Everyone in the station had told him what a hard man Bill Hobart was. Had said he was lucky to be on this assignment with him, he'd get the chance to bash up a few nancy-boys. He didn't understand, he had been really looking forward to this, working with Bill, fighting with him side by side. Was everything he heard about Bill a lie? Was he going soft? Was he scared, was that it? Looking at Bill he sneered at him, 'Never thought I'd see the day the great Bill Hobart was a-scared of a pair of poofters!'

Bill was sorely tempted give Parkinson a clip around the ears and he very nearly did so. But his new found control held and he just gave Parky another rough shake then said, 'Son, I'll tell you something for free. When you have been on the job as long as I have sooner or later you realise there is a lot of real nastiness out there. Two queers in a toilet block aren't evil or frightening. They're just lonely and looking for something that you and I are lucky enough to take for granted.'

'But Bill, its' a crime!' protested Parkinson.

'Yeah, so I hear. But you know what I reckon is the real crime?' Parkinson shook his head, no. ' The real crime is wasting police time chasing these poor buggers because some snotty society lady is offended when we should be out doing some real thief taking!'

With that he left the toilet block and resumed his position under the flying-fox tree to wait patiently.

…


	4. Chapter 4

**4\. The 12** **th** **Man.**

Click…Click…Click…Click

The ceiling fan in the station was revolving slowly, stirring the hot air in the station and rustling the papers on Bill's desk. High summer in Ballarat was fine if you could be outdoors at the lake, or in the cool of a shady tree with a frosty beer to hand while listening to the Test on the wireless. Now in the third day of a heat wave, the thermostat was heading north towards 100 degrees and the old ceiling fan did little or nothing to relive the suffocating humidity and heat. A blowfly buzzed lazily and beat against the windows. It was too hot for miscreants to be out making trouble and the Station House was somnolent and quiet.

Click…Click…Click…Click

Bill sighed. He was damp with perspiration and his hands were leaving sweaty marks on the reports he was working on. What he wouldn't give for a cold one right now! He fanned himself with a sheaf of papers trying to stir the air a bit more. It was going to be another long, hot afternoon with nothing much happening, he thought to himself. It was too hot for thieving; any self-respecting thief was having a summer holiday.

Click…Click…Click…Click

Nearly dozing in the heat, Bill doggedly continued with his appointed task of filing and reviewing reports. Behind him he could hear Lawson talking softly on the phone to the Metro office. Out in the front office a phone began to ring. Young Parkinson was supposedly manning the desk this afternoon but Bill could hear the phone jangling on and on. 'Parky must be on a tea break', thought Bill and he rose and made his way to the front desk. Bill didn't hurry at all, it was too hot to rush, but whoever was calling the station were insistent about contacting them.

Bill reached the front desk and picked up the phone 'Ballarat Police,' he growled into the receiver.

'About bloody time! What'er you lot doin' down there, taking a nap?' screeched an angry male voice.

Bill gritted his teeth and maintained a forced calm. 'How can I help you? Do you wish to report an incident Sir?'

'Damn right I do! Get down here and arrest this thieving bastard! Little ratbag has been nicking stuff. I caught him red handed.'

Calmly Bill wrote down the particulars and assured the caller that an officer would call in shortly. He hung the phone just as Parkinson returned from the back of the station. 'Where've you been?' asked Bill shortly. 'You don't leave the front desk unattended. EVER.'

Parky just looked at him and shrugged, 'Needed to take a leak.'

Bill snarled, 'Learn to hold it or get someone to cover for you in future'. Violently he tore off the sheet of paper with the details and stomped back to his desk. He did not see the sneer that Parky shot at him behind his back.

Lawson was just finishing his phone call as Bill strode up to his desk. He looked up inquiringly and Bill waved the incident report at him. 'Store manager down at Mason's dry goods has caught a shoplifter. They need someone to come in and arrest some kid who has been caught nicking a cricket ball.'

Lawson's eyebrow raised. 'A kid stealing a ball is hardly the crime of the century. Send Parkinson to deal with it.'

Bill considered all the men who worked in the Station his family, but he felt that Parky was the irresponsible younger brother that wasn't really ready to be out on his own as yet. But, you didn't dump on family. 'I'll go, Parky needs to keep the front desk manned. Seems he hasn't really got a handle on that aspect of the job yet.'

Lawson grunted. He had not been overly impressed with Parkinson's work ethic either. 'Fine, as long as your reports are filed by the end of the day you can deal with it.'

Mason's Dry Goods Emporium was a short walk down Grenville Street around the corner from the Station House. Bill kept under the shaded veranda's as he strolled. Arriving at the store a cheery bell tinkled out as he opened the door to announce his arrival. Mason's was a well-kept older style store selling traditional dry goods to the local rural market. Bolts of cloth and general haberdashery, bins of animal feed, canned goods, sacks of flour and rice, that sort of thing. At the rear of the store ran a long counter that held a number of jars holding liquorice and hard sweets next to the old-fashioned till. In front of the counter were open shelves that held a variety of children's toys and sporting goods; rag dolls, cricket bats and balls, paper kites, card and box games, comics; all enticing goods to catch a youngsters' eyes as they waited for their mother to complete the more mundane purchases. Mr. Mason was an early believer in 'pester-power'.

The owner and general manager, Clive Mason, stood behind the counter and watched Bill cross the floor. Like his store, Mason was well-kept and old-fashioned. Short and balding, he wore shop-style coveralls, white shirt and a blue bow tie. 'Took yer time.' He commented with a scowl.

Bill looked a Mason without expression. 'Where is the boy?' he asked.

'I locked the thieving little tea-leaf up in the back room. I want him arrested!' Mason demanded.

'Take me to him,' sighed Bill. He watched while Mason rushed to the front of the shop, locked the door and turned the 'back in 5 minutes' card side to view. Bill then followed Mason around the counter and into the back room. Bill walked into a dusty back room stacked with cartons and old stock. A battered desk piled with paperwork and invoices stood in the centre of the room. Faint muffled thumps and howls were emitting from the large coat cupboard placed behind the desk. The doors of the cupboard were firmly locked with a large padlock.

'You locked him in there? Today? In this heat?' Bill was appalled. 'If that lad has suffered heat stroke…' he left his threat unfinished.

Mason glared. 'What else was I to do with him? Tie him up? You should have come faster.'

'Open it. Now.' Bill's temper was beginning to simmer.

Mason scuttled around the desk and fiddled with a ring of keys. Finally finding the correct key, he opened the padlock and swung the cupboard door open to reveal small boy huddled in the corner. The tow-headed youngster looked up at both men with wide blue eyes, his dirt smudged face streaked with tears and perspiration.

'Out you come, Son,' said Bill.

Fast as a goanna climbing a tree, the youngster suddenly jumped up and streaked around the desk, pushing past Mason making a beeline for the office door. With a single side step Bill blocked his path, reached down and grasped the lad's collar and lifted him up onto his toes.

'Bastard bloody bastard! He locked me up! Bloody bastard!' He squirmed in Bill's grasp.

'Stop.' Growled Bill giving the lad a bit of a shake. The boy wilted and subsided.

'I want him arrested! I want him locked up!' Mason was red in the face.

'You said on the phone he took a cricket ball. Must have been gold plated to cause this fuss,' commented Bill. 'Let me see it.'

With poor grace Mason dug into the pocket of his coverall and pulled out a red rubber ball. He handed over to Bill, who read the price stamped on the leather. '2s/6p? Not exactly grand theft. And its not even real leather.'

Mason was fuming in anger. 'These thieving hoodlums! They steal anything not nailed down and I'm sick of it. I want it stopped!'

Bill handed the ball back to Mason. 'Right', he said. 'I'll take him down to the station and have a little chat with him and his mum, open the bloody door.' Mason ran to the front of the shop and unlocked the front door as Bill grabbed the boy firmly by the upper arm and marched him out of the shop. At the doorway Bill glared fiercely at Mason and snarled into his face, 'You are bloody lucky this lad isn't hurt. I don't care what they steal. You. Do. Not. Lock. Them. IN A CUPBOARD!' Mason fell back a step his face paling. The boy looked at Bill in surprise.

Holding the boy fast in his grasp Bill half walked half dragged him down to the Station. Bill shoved the front door open with a crash and pulled the lad inside. Parky watched the spectacle in amazement. 'Catch a dangerous one, did 'ya, Bill?' he smirked.

Bill said nothing, just marched the boy past him into the office, his face a thundercloud. Swinging the boy around by his arm, he plonked him into a chair next to his desk and growled at him 'Sit. And DON'T MOVE.' The boy was suitably cowed and sat in the chair wide eyed and fearful. Lawson looked up from his desk and said nothing but watched. Bill pulled out a record book and a pen and looked over at the boy and asked, 'Name?'

Snivelling slightly, but with false bravado the boy shot back, 'Me Da' says all youse coppers are bent! I don't have to say nuffin to youse!'

'Son, do you really want to sit in the cells while I find out who you are? Its' not good idea to waste our time, bent or not.'

The boy clamped his jaw shut tightly.

Bill sighed. 'Tell you what son, I bet you're thirsty after being locked up like that. How about a cuppa tea?'

The boy considered. He _was_ thirsty. He nodded. Bill stood up, looked at him and said 'Don't move from that spot or I'll thump you.' Then walked off. The boy sat frozen to the chair while he looked around the Station house office curiously. He studied the desks and the filing cabinets, his eyes growing wider as he spotted the glass fronted gun safe in the corner. His eyes roved around the room until finally they were caught in Lawson's steady gaze. He shrank into himself slightly as he stared back.

'That's Sergeant Bill Hobart, you know.' Said Lawson conversationally to the youngster. 'Best you be up front with him.' The boy's eyes widened even further. He'd been taken by The Bulldog Bill? And was still alive to tell the tale? His Da' had threatened him more than once that he would call in The Bulldog if he didn't mind his Mum.

Bill returned to his desk with two cups of tea in his hands. He put one in front of the boy as well as handing him a couple of Anzac biscuits. 'Thought you might be a bit peckish as well,' he said gravely. The boy took his tea and biscuits in wonderment. He drank thirstily and then crammed one of the sweet biscuits all in his mouth at once.

'Right son, can we just have a quiet little chat between just you and me? Can you tell me your name?'

Something in the gentleness of Bill's tone and residule fear of the legend of The Bulldog broke the boy's resolve and with a spray of biscuit crumbs he burst out, 'Robbie. Robert McEwan!'

'Ah. Stuart McEwan's boy?' Robbie nodded. Bill considered, Stuart McEwan had been sent away last year for Break and Enter. He was currently serving 5 to 10 at the Castlemaine jail. Charlie had caught him in the act of breaking into the Tyneman's mansion. It had been Stuarts' first offence but the judge had come down hard on him, at Patrick Tyenman's insistance.

'Have you been up to see him?' Robbie shook his head no, his face a misery. Bill knew the family slightly from court room appearances. McEwan had a wife and another, older son, Alistair, as well as young Robbie. He knew Mrs. McEwan was doing it tough. 'How old are you, Robbie.'

'Eight.'

'That's pretty young to be starting a life of crime, Robbie. You know, you don't want to end up where your Da is.'

'Dun care,' said Robbie sullenly.

'Where's your Mum Robbie? How come you're out on your own.' Asked Bill

'She's working. At the boot fact'ry. Me bruvver Al minds me, see?'

'And where is Al right now then?

Robbie looked at his dusty bare feet and sighed. ''e's at the cricket ground inna park.'

'Ah. I see.' Bill pondered. 'Did Al ask you to steal the cricket ball for him?'

'NO!' Robbie burst out and stood up.

'Sit, Robbie. It's okay.' Bill was soothing. 'Just tell me why you took the ball. It's okay, you can't get into any more trouble if you just tell the truth.'

Robbie sat back down with a thump. He looked over to see Lawson watching. Lawson lifted an eyebrow at the boy and nodded his head towards Bill. Robbie looked back at Bill and with a shuddering half sob burst out, 'Me bruvver won't let me play wif' him and 'is mates. They's all playin' cricket together and I has ta' watch and they won't let me even play catch. Cain't play unless you brings some 'quipmen. Thems the rules. They said iffen I brung a ball or a bat I could maybe 12th man! So I snuck off and got me savin's outa me piggy and went to buy a ball. But I only gots 2 shillin's and the ball's 2 n' 6.'

Robbie was glum. 'I arksed an' arksed Mr. Mason ifen I could have it on the tick and pay him later, but he grabbed at me and called a thief like me Da' and I runs and he catches me and slung me in the cupboard. I was on'y holdin the ball, I weren't stealin' it! I weren't!'

Bill considered carefully. This was, he felt at some instinctive level, a turning point in Robbie's young life. It could go either way. It was difficult enough to live in Ballarat with the stigma of having a father doing time. The last thing Robbie needed was to be tarred with the same brush. Bill glanced over at Lawson who was watching him carefully. Bill raised an eyebrow in question and Lawson slightly nodded. Bill knew Lawson was giving him tacit approval for however he wanted to play this.

'Well young Robert, Mr. Mason is insisting we punish you. He's had a lot of petty theft in his store recently.'

'T'weren't me!' protested Robbie.

'I believe you, son.' Bill shook his head sadly. 'Seems like you might be taking the blame for others.'

'Will I go to jail like me Da? I don't mind so's much if I can be where he is.' Bill had thought he had a heart of stone, but at this statement he felt a definite crack in that lump in his chest.

'No Robbie, I won't send you to jail this time. Let's just have you sit here and finish your tea while I call your Mum in for a chat.

...

Robbie sat quietly in his chair, swinging his legs. He watched the goings on of the station house, amazed at the bustle and efficiency of the place. Leaning forward and peering around from his chair he could see into the front office where Sergeant Hobart was in discussion with Parkinson. Parky turned suddently and stared at Robbie fiercely. Robbie quickly shrank back in his chair.

Bill came back to his desk and sat down. 'Robbie?' he asked, 'Can you use a broom?' Robbie nodded back in confusion. Of course he could use a broom, what a silly question. 'Good' responded Bill but said nothing more.

Click...Click...Click...Click...

The fan kept spinning the minutes away. Eventually after what seemed like hours to Robbie he heard his mother's voice at the front desk.

'Mum!' he called out, 'I'm here!'

'Quiet, Robbie.' growled Bill and Robbie subsided. Bill got up, went to the front desk and brought back Mrs. McEwan. He grabbed another chair, placed it by Robbie and indicated she should sit there.

'Oh, Robbie! What has ya' done?' said Mrs. McEwan sadly.

'Nufin Mum! Honest!' protested Robbie stoutly.

'Mrs. McEwan,' interjected Bill, 'Robbie has been accused of trying to steal a cricket ball from Morgan's Dry Goods Emporium. Frankly, I think Mr. Morgan is mistaken in his accusation, but he is insisting that Robbie be punished.'

Mrs. McEwan threw her arms around Robbie and hugged him to her tightly. 'Not my boy too, Sergeant! Don't take my boy as well.'

Bill smiled at her gently, 'No, no. Nothing like that. But we need to be seen to be doing our job to Mr. Mason, he will drop his charge if I can convince him Robbie is being suitably punished. I have a suggestion that I hope Robbie will agree to. If he accepts, there is no need for this incident to go onto record, he won't have to before the Children's court. Providing he agrees, that is.'

...

For the next three weeks, weekdays between 3 and 4 pm in the afternoon, Robbie presented himself at the Station. His brother Alistair chaparoned him there and waited outside on a bench for him each day. This was Al's punishment for not watching his brother carefully enough and allowing him to get into trouble. Robbie's task was to sweep the Station offices carefully and thoroughly under the gimlet eye of young Parkinson. The lad turned up on time each day and carried out his duty with great care and attention to detail. The best afternoons were when Sergeant Bill Hobart was at his desk. Bill would greet him with a 'G'day young Robbie. How's it going?' Robbie would grin and duck his head and answer 'Fine thanks, Sarge.' He would then proceed to sweep most carefully around Bill's desk. Robbie never noticed that for some reason there were always more pencil shavings and torn scraps of paper scattered around Bill's desk. It always took him twice as long to sweep there.

On the last day his three week 'sentence of hard labour' as Bill had put it, Robbie reported to Bill at 4pm. Bill looked up from his reports to see Robbie standing at the corner of his desk anxiously.

'All finished, son?' Robbie nodded. Bill glanced around the swept clean office. 'Good-oh. You've done a bang up job the past few weeks. I reckon you've paid your 'debt' to society. I'll make sure Mr. Mason knows and won't bother you again, but stay out of his store in future!' Bill grinned at Robbie who grinned back.

'Sorry to see you go.' Bill reached over and held out his hand. Robbie looked at it for a second before understanding, then grasped Bill's hand and shook it heartily.

'Ta' muchly Sarge.' responded Robbie. Robbie was almost sorry to have his 'sentence' end. But summer was waning and in a week he would be back at school. There was only a little bit of summer holidays left!

'Before you go Rob,' said Bill a bit hesitantly, 'I've got something for you.' Bill reached into his desk drawer, scrabbled around a bit, then pulled out a new shiny red leather cricket ball. A 'proper' leather Test cricket ball! He handed over the gift to Robbie who's eyes nearly popped out of his head. 'Consider it your wages for a job well done. We both know you didn't try to steal from Mr. Mason. It takes a big man to take an undeserved punishment without complaint.'

'Oh Sarge!' breathed Robbie, holding the treasured ball in his hands, 'This is bonzer!'

'Right then, off you go. Don't let me see you around here again.' Bill smiled at Robbie who smiled back then turned and dashed out of the office.

'You not going soft on me now, are you Bill?' Lawson said from his corner of the office. Bill just gave a sort of a growl and Lawson chuckled.

 **...10 years later...**

Bill was out on the back veranda of his little weatherboard house. He sat on a deck chair with a beer to hand and a transistor radio playing at his side. Bill sighed in contentment as he listened to Anne and young Gracie in the background washing up the lucheon dishes in the kitchen. Then he cocked his ear, reached forward and turned up the sound on the radio to hear...

...'and now stepping up to the crease for his first appearance with the Victorian side at this season's Sheffield Shield is young Robbie McEwan. Robbie is a born and bred Ballarat boy...

Bill leaned back in his chair with a big smile on his face and listened to the match.


	5. Chapter 5

5\. Fair Dinkum.

Sergeant Bill Hobart sat in the back room of the Station, his left hand in a bucket of ice. His face was stoically grim as Dr. Blake cleaned and carefully sutured the cut on his temple. A purple mouse was starting to blossom under his right eye. He winced just slightly as Blake swabbed stinging antiseptic over the completed stitches.

Blake stood back and looked at his handy work. 'There. Shouldn't scar too badly. You're lucky you didn't get a concussion. But you're also going to have a bit of an eye there soon, Bill. You should put some of that ice on it.'

Bill just grunted.

'Here, let me look at that hand,' Blake watched as Bill removed the damaged extremity from the bucket of ice. He carefully manipulated the fingers and felt for broken bones.

'Nothing broken, but it is going to be a bit swollen for a day or two. Keep it iced. Now, undo your shirt, let's look at those ribs.'

Bill said nothing, just pulled his shirt up with his right hand and stared past Blake's shoulder. Blake carefully poked and prodded. 'Hmm, maybe a cracked rib, but not broken I think. Going to purple up nicely. Hold still, I'll strap it up for you, that should help.' Blake proceeded to minister wrap and plaster to Bill's chest.

'Lawson's going to want to hear your report.' Bill refocused his gaze to Blakes' face and nodded.

'Anything you want to tell me first?' Bill still did not speak. 'You know Parkinson has come back without a scratch. He's making his report to Lawson now.'

Bill looked sadly at Blake and shook his head slightly. 'The lad's a menace, you know that don't you Doc?'

'He's young Bill. The young make mistakes.' continued Blake.

Bill just shook his head again. 'He keeps making these sorts of mistakes he'll get himself killed. He nearly got me killed tonight. For all I know he's killed Jim Baker.'

Blake responded seriously, 'Jim's still unconscious. With luck he'll come out of it soon.'

'For all our sakes I bloody well hope he does.' muttered Bill.

...

Lawson looked at his battered gladiator with concern. Usually, after a fight, Bill was animated. He could be almost jovial. But unlike a usual fight, he was positively grim after this one. Parkinson had been cagey in his report. Lawson needed to get to the bottom of this. Blake sat in and listened with an interested ear.

'This is a bit of mess, Bill. What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?'

Bill looked up at Lawson in surprise. 'Me? I was defending myself!'

'Really?' said Lawson skeptically. 'That's not what Constable Parkinson has been saying.'

'Oh, Christ on a stick. What has that little piece of shite been telling you?'

Lawson frowned. 'According to Parky, you were both called to a disturbance at the Royal Crown. He says you broke down the front doors and went in swinging. You went in without back up and when he caught up with you, you were down on the ground getting smacked around by Jim Baker. He knocked Baker out with his nightstick, chased off the other two offenders, then called in for help.'

'Bloody hell. You believe that porky?' Bill was incredulous. 'Boss, that kid needs a good slap if that's what he says happened.'

'Well, why don't you tell me your version of events.'

Bill shook his head. 'He's right about being called to the Royal Crown. Bit of after-hours drinking going on there. You know we sort of turn a blind eye to that as long as they keep it civilized. The publican, Jim Baker, reported a fight in progress and asked me to come down and sort it out for him. Jim's a good bloke and usually keeps a lid on any misbehavior. Charlie was out on another call, so I had to take Parky with me. Not that I wanted to.'

'Yes,' agreed Lawson, 'He's had a bit of a problem fitting in here, but I thought you had that sorted.'

With a sigh Bill continued, 'Sorted? Well, kid rubs me up the wrong way... still, he was the only one available so I told him to come along.' Bill grunted. 'He nattered the whole way down about how he was going to smash in a few heads until I told him to pack it in. We got to the Crown and I banged on the doors. Jim came and let us in right off. There were two blokes in the Public creating havoc. Jim lead me in and I told Parky to follow behind. As soon as I stepped into the bar and called 'Police' these two blokes turned and rushed me. Like they forgot what they were arguing about in that instant and ganged up for a bit of cop bashing.'

'You know these two?' Blake put in.

'Seen 'em about town, but don't have their names. New in town. Anyway, they made for me. One of them was a big bugger and clocked me in the face right off. I got a couple of punches in,' Bill shook his hand painfully, 'but t'other grabbed me from behind, held my arms behind my back and the big 'un started to lay into me.'

'Where was Parkinson?' Lawson asked.

'Dunno Boss. I thought he was right there, but he wasn't. I yelled out for him to help, but he didn't show. That's when Jim stepped in and clobbered the one who was holding me with a bottle. The one punching me got a good head butt in and I guess I passed out for a bit. Next I knew I was on the ground and Jim was slapping my face trying to get me to wake up.'

'What happened to the two blokes?'

'They had scarpered. Must've decided to leg it after they saw me go down. So, there I was on the ground, Jim was slapping me, and Parky comes up behind him and gives Jim one helluva wallop with his night stick! Jim falls to the ground and Parky just looks down at me laughing. Fair dinkum boss, that kid is right evil.'

Blake shook his head in disbelief. 'What a mess.' Lawson looked concerned.

Bill was crestfallen. 'Boss, that is exactly what happened.'

'I believe you Bill, I do. But your reputation precedes you. Until Jim Baker wakes up and confirms your story, both you and Parkinson are suspended from duty.'

...

Blake took pity on Bill's wounded condition and offered him a lift home. As the two men were walking out of the Station they passed Parkinson who was also about to leave. Parky was surrounded by two or three of the junior officers who were listening to avidly to him. They could hear him gloating '...and I tell you what, if I hadn't of been there he'd be a dead 'un. The guy's getting too old for...'

Bill surged forward but was held back by Blake's iron grip on his arm. 'Leave it Bill. The truth will out.'

With a growl Bill subsided and contented himself with shooting Parky a death glare as they passed. Parky just smirked.

'Once I drop you home I'll head up to the hospital and see about Jim.' consoled Blake.

'Thanks Doc,' Bill responded bleakly.

...

Jim Baker was unconscious for nearly two days. Blake was seriously worried about him and the hospital was monitoring Jim closely. Lawson was annoyed about being down two men and was making everyone's life at the Station a misery. Bill sat at home in his one room flat and stared at the walls. His life and reputation were on the line and he could do nothing about it. He wanted go see Ann but he didn't trust himself to leave the flat. He'd rung her and told her to stay away. Charlie had come around and told him that Parky had been heard spreading tales about Bill around town. Bill knew if there was even the slightest chance of meeting Parky in the street he would not be able to hold himself back, he would smack the young officer silly. It was best he just stayed low and out of sight until called back in.

Finally, on the afternoon of the second day Jim Baker regained consciousness. As soon as the doctors gave the all clear and Jim's rattled brains had calmed down enough, Lawson and Blake came in to talk to him. His recollection was somewhat hazy, but clear enough for Lawson to form a picture of what had actually happened.

...

Young Constable Parkinson stood to attention in front of Chief Superintendent Matthew Lawson. Lawson's face was grim. He looked Parky up and down and spoke, 'I'd like to know exactly what the bloody hell you were thinking?'

Parky pretended not to comprehend, 'Sir? I don't know what you mean Sir.'

'Don't take me for and idiot! You neglected your duty to assist a fellow officer in distress. You lied in your report of the incident. You have been spreading malicious stories about Sergeant Bill Hobart.'

'Sir! You are mistaken Sir! I know what I saw, I helped an officer who was down. Hobart is past it, and people should know!' Parky had a theory that if he threw enough mud on Bill's reputation some of it would stick.

Lawson was anger was icily calm. He produced Jim Bakers' statement. 'According to our witness, you did NOT assist Sergeant Hobart when he was attacked, you were, and I quote Baker, 'frozen like a rabbit in the headlights.'

Parky's' gaze was shifty, he could not look Lawson in the eye. 'Sir! Hobart just jumped in...'

'NO!' Parky jumped at Lawsons' bark. Lawson continued to refer to the witness report, 'SERGEANT Hobart attended the scene, correctly identifying himself upon arrival when the two suspects then turned and attacked him. One suspect held him immobile while the other proceeded to punch him about the ribs and face. YOU did nothing. Jim Baker says he had to step in and give assistance, whereupon one of the men rendered Sergeant Hobart unconscious, then both men fled the scene. Baker was trying to revive Hobart when you chose to weigh in with your nightstick and hit him. You gave him a serious injury and are damn lucky you didn't kill him.'

Parkinson wasn't going to give in. 'Sir! He's lying! Everyone knows Jim Baker is bent. He and the Sergeant were both part of it, it was a set up! Sergeant Hobart's had it in for me from the start!'

Lawson shook his head in disbelief. 'Constable, I don't know what sort of fantasy land you are living in. Sergeant Hobart is as honest as they come. You are suspended without pay until further notice pending a full investigation and disciplinary tribunal. I suggest you think long and hard about your conduct and your future as a police officer. Whatever the outcome, you are not the sort of officer that I want in my Station House.'

Parky's mouth dropped open in astonishment. He had wanted to be a cop all his life. He had hero worshiped Bill Hobart since he was a lad at Ballarat Primary. He had had wonderful visions of going on patrol with Bill and ridding Ballarat of every crim in sight. As a lad he was a terror and bully on the school ground. He would bail up the smaller lads and 'arrest' them with his fists. But real-life policing was a very different thing. Cops didn't go around beating people up just for the fun of it. There was also a lot of boring paperwork and reporting to deal with. Junior officers did most of the scut work in the Station. The Senior officers only tolerated or ignored him, dismissing him as a green recruit. Each time he had been partnered with Bill had been a disappointment. His conduct had been shameful and Bill let him know it. Parky believed that Bill viewed him with contempt and scorn. Any admiration or hero worship he had felt had rapidly turned to derision and hatred.

Then the unthinkable had happened. When the two men in the Crown turned on Bill, the chance had come to redeem himself in Bill's eyes. But he had been rooted to the floor with fear, fear of the danger, fear of getting hurt. Those blokes were BIG and knew how to hit! He realized in that instant he would never measure up and that he was craven. Surprisingly, his fear had turned into childish glee and he had thought to himself, 'Not so tough now, are you old Bulldog!' Only after Jim Baker had leapt into action, then both men fleeing and seeing Bill out cold on the floor did Parky realize the spot he was in. He knew he should have chased after the men, maybe even caught them. If he had only done at least that he could have salvaged his pride and reclaimed himself. But all he could think was that Jim had witnessed his cowardice. Without out conscious effort he found he could move again. So, he moved with all speed and malice to silence Jim. He actually hoped he had killed him. He certainly had intended to.

Lawson looked at him coldly, 'Get your gear. You'll be notified in due course of the time and place of your hearing.'

Even at that moment he could have turned his life around. He could have accepted his mistake, apologize and taken his punishment like a man of honor. Instead, he sneered at Lawson and spat, 'Tell the Bulldog it was a right pleasure watching his face get smashed in.'

...

Bill was back at his desk the next day. Over the next few weeks there was some gossip to contend with, but Bill had weathered worse before. Bill, Dr. Blake and Jim Baker had to appear as witnesses before the Police Tribunal. Bill wore his honesty as his shield and it protected him from the worst of the discomfort. Two weeks later Lawson handed him the report of their findings:

 _Upon evidence submitted by witnesses, The Police Disciplinary Tribunal is satisfied that on the balance of probabilities the designated officer Stewart Patrick Parkinson committed a serious breach of discipline and misconduct. This Tribunal will be recommending to the Commissioner of Police that the said officers' employment with the Victorian Police is terminated forthwith ..._

Bill handed the report back to Lawson. 'You know, my Dad always said to me 'Be honest, be fair-dinkum. It might not get you a lot of mates, but it will always get you the right ones.' I don't think Parky ever learned that. You and the Doc... well... Thanks Boss.'

...


	6. Chapter 6

**6\. Bill's Christmas Carol**

The hot sun blistered down, bleaching all the coloured tinsel decorating the shop windows to a twinkling of migraine silver. Cicadas shrilled a deafing carol. The smell of over cooked ham and sour cream wafted out from Don's delicatessen. Wilting pine trees on the footpath outside the greengrocer's shed their needles like green snow.

'Bugger it,' thought Bill bitterly to himself. 'I hate Christmas.' He stomped angrily through the late afternoon to the police station. He had been doing late shifts this week and now he had drawn the short straw to work Christmas Eve. Harrassed mothers would be battling to finish their shopping during the special 'late night' hours only to find they had lost a screaming child or two in the crowds. No doubt he would also be dealing with more than his fair share of drunks spilling out from year-end celebrations. Christmas Eve was always a busy night, at least until the drunks passed out, the mothers' dropped from pure exhaustion and the children willed themselves to sleep to ensure a visit from the bearded guy who was obviously overdressed for the climate.

Christmas also meant another holiday spent alone. After his Gran had died he did not celebrate it anymore. He had hoped that he and Ann could have had a quiet meal together at the pub, but she had headed down to Melbourne to attend a Christmas function at her gallery. Their parting had been tense and uncomfortable. He strode past the Salvos' singing carols on the corner, ignoring their rattling tins.

'Bugger it,' he swore again as he stepped into peice of chewy one of those screaming kids had spat onto the footpath.

'Happy Christmas Bill,' rang out the jovial greeting. Bill looked up from his task of scrapping gum off his size 10's. Docter Blake stood in front of him, a whisky grin on his face and his arms full of parcels.

'Bah,' grumbled Bill. 'Happy back atcha'.'

'Bill! You are a right proper old Scrooge! Don't forget you promised Jean you would join us for lunch tomorrow!'

'Arrrgh.' Bill growled. How could he get out of that?

Blake looked at Bill with concern and leaned forward saying gently, 'Jean expects you. I expect you. Please come,' Blake looked at him conspiriatorily, 'I won't expect you to smile, but Jean will expect you to eat some of that ham she is cooking! I swear that pig must have been a monster. I need you to help eat it or else I'll be having ham sandwiches until Easter.'

'Right. Ok, I'll be there.' responded Bill with gloom.

'Good oh! I'll expect you around noon or so. And Bill, buck up mate, Christmas only comes once a year!'

'Thank bloody goodness,' was all Bill could respond.

...

The last drunk had been carried home, all lost children found and gathered to their mothers' bosoms. All alone in the Station house Bill settled down for a long night. He could have a kip in the cells later if he got to sleepy, but for now he just leaned back in his chair with his feet on his desk. The air was heavy and still, the old ceiling fan still clicking away doing little to dispel the humid air. Without realising it Bill began to doze off. 'Scrooge. Bah.' he mummbled to himself as he drifed of to another time and place.

 _Bill heard the sound of his mother's voice singing Christmas carols from the kitchen as she checked the roast lamb in the oven. It smelled divine. His 10 year old mouth was drooling. In his lap was the best present ever, a real Kookaburra cricket bat. He lovingly ran his hands up and down the smoothly oiled willow wood. He smiled over at his Dad who was in his armchair. Sitting on Dad's lap was little Becky, his sister. Dad was holding her very carefully, as though she would break. Becky was still recovering from rheumatic fever and was pale and delicate. They were playing with Becky's new baby doll and Dad was showing her how the little milk bottle worked and how the doll would say 'mamma' when you tilted her over. Later, after lunch, Dad had promised to play a bit of cricket with him in the back yard. It was the best Christmas ever..._

Bill twitched and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, almost, but not quite waking up.

 _...he was 14 and defiant. He stood in the kitchen that Christmas afternoon and looked at his mother. He had just told her he was joining the force as a cadet and would be off to training in January. She was weeping softly, saying, 'Bill, Bill...don't leave...' He clenched his fists. 'What do you want me to do Mum? I can't stay here, if I stay any longer, I'll kill him, I will!' he declared passionately. As he waited for her to reply they both heard the front door open and his father rolled drunkenly in. 'Wassa' happenin'?' he slurred looking from mother to son. 'I'm leaving Dad. I'm leaving to join the force.' His father's face turned from a drunken red to a purple rage, 'Whaaa? You bloody will NOT!' And he swung his fist back to strike Bill. Bill blocked the clumsy blow easily and for the first time in his life he struck his father back, hitting him hard in the stomach. Dad doubled over, retching. Bill turned and kissed his mother quickly with an 'I'm sorry,' and strode out the door. He spend the night weeping at Beckys' grave and begging her forgiveness._

BANG! Bill woke with a shock. 'OYE! Are you all dead or what!' called a loud voice from the front office. Banging his feet to the floor Bill got up and walked blearily to the desk. Standing there was his mate Jim Baker from the Crown Hotel with a gift wrapped bottle in his arms. He gave Bill a big grin and sang out 'Merry Christmas, old mate!' and the presented him with the gift.

'Uh, thanks,' said a befuddled Bill. 'But I can't...'

'Take it! Take it please,' insisted Jim.

'We're not meant to accept gifts from the public,' said Bill grumpily.

'Public? Hah! I suppose you could say it was from the public - my Public!' chortled the publican. 'Never mind, I'll just leave it here on the counter. You can claim it as lost and found maybe!' With a wave and grin Jim left the office.

Bill shook his head and hide the bottle in the cupboard under the desk. He risked a peek under the wrapping to see it was top shelf stuff. The last thing he needed was to be up on a charge of bribery! He strode to the front door and drew the dead lock. Time to discourage any other late night visitors. They could ring the night bell if it was urgent. He walked back to his desk, still befuddled by the odd dreams he had had. He shook himself to chase away the shivers, then pulled out some reports and started to review.

The night wore on and Bill's eyes grew heavier and heavier. Without even realising it the pen dropped from his hand and his head was resting on the desk. He was sound asleep again.

 _The front veranda was bedecked with Christmas bows and garlands. Inside the Blake's house laughter and piano music sounded. Blake got up from the piano and joined Jean to look happily around at the gathering of their friends and loved ones. Matthew and Alice were quietly chatting each other up while Rose and Charlie were making eyes at one another covertly. Jean turned to Blake and said somewhat sadly, 'Bill couldn't come?' Blake looked at Jean and shook his head in remorse, 'I asked, he said he would try to make it, but I guess in the end he couldn't let himself.' Matthew, overhearing their conversation put in, 'Bill doesn't make friends easily, but I had hoped he had finally realised that we are all here for him.' 'Well,' Blake responded, 'we can only keep trying, maybe next year, eh?' Blake raised his glass to all there and toasted 'to absent freinds!'_

 _The lights and tinsel on the Blake's tree twinkled and sparkled then blurred and refocused into the candleabra lighting of the grand reception room of the the Windsor Hotel. Glamerous and stylish guests mingled and chatted while drinking champagne and nibbling exotic things on toast. Surrounded by an admiring crowd, a slender and elegantly dressed Ann was holding court. Her exhibition opening had been a grand success and she was trying to convince herself she was enjoying herself and not grieving for Bill. He had made it clear to her that she could never compete with his first and only love, the police. She looked across the room and spotted a tall, attractive man in a tuxedo watching her. Ann smiled at him wistfully and he crossed the room to join her. Greeting her by putting his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek he congratulated her on her success. She paused, then smiling said, 'Greg! How nice to see you again. I'm so glad you came!' With that, she resolved to put all thoughts of Bill behind her._

RRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG!

The jangling night bell brought Bill awake with a start. Staggering upright he rushed to the front door and unlocked the deadlock. He swung open the door but no one was there. He stepped outside and peered left and right into the night but could not see anyone. In the distance he heard the sound of a boy's laughter and muttered to himself 'Kids.'

Bill stretched and took in a large breath of the night. He could feel a cool change in the air and knew the heat would break at last by morning. He looked up into the sky at the summer moon sitting heavily in the night. The stars were like cut crystal in a dark glass. He sighed and shook his head.

Returning inside he locked the front door again. He was discomforted by the strange dreams he had been having. Maybe falling asleep at his desk wasn't such a good idea. So he took himself down to the dark, empty cells. He lay down on one of the cots and closed his eyes, promising himself he would only rest a moment.

 _A hot northerly wind blew gustily through Melbourne, tossing paper and leaves about. In a seaside suburb home, Ann sat with her family around her. Her son and daughter were there and her two grandsons were happily playing with their new Gameboys under the Christmas tree. Ann looked over to Greg contentedly. He was getting a bit of a pauch she thought, but still, we're not doing too bad for an old married couple! Greg felt her eyes upon him and he glanced over and smiled at her. 'Ann, I ran into one of your old flames in Ballarat last week!' Greg was currently overseeing the installation of a retrospective of her work at the Ballarat art gallery. 'Let me guess, Bill Hobart?' 'Yes,' chuckled Greg 'he's retired now,not too flash but the same grim old dog.' 'Poor lonely old Bill,' murmmered Ann sadly, then one of the grandsons called out to her and she put Bill out of her mind forever._

 _The wind sighed through Ballarat and rattled the decorations hanging from the veranda railing. Inside laughter and piano music could be heard as once again family and friends gathered at the Blake house. Christmas with Jean and Lucien had become a tradition. Alice and Matthew were there, happily married and still surprising each other. This year, newly divorced Christopher had brought Amellia with him and they were both laughing and teasing a young asian lad, Blakes youngest grandson who was over on a university study tour. Rose was there as well, with her latest beau from Melbourne. Both Charlie and Danny and their wives were taking bets on how long this one was going to last. No one commented on Bill's absence anymore, they no longer expected him._

 _The wind picked up speed and tossed the dust in the streets into willy-willies. It sighed up the hill and puffed under the door's of the policeman's retirement home. Bill lay in bed in the single room he now called his home. He was old and sick, his hands were crippled by arthritis and his heart was failing. Always a strong man he resented his infirmary and made the nursing staff's lives a misery. When he said he hated Christmas they quite happily left him alone in his room and forgot all about him while they celebrated with the other residents. Bill shivered under his blankets as the hot wind shook the window panes. Alone, sick and forgotten. He took one shuddering breath and then... just...stopped._

The sun shone through the cell window and hit his face like a slap. Bill woke in surprise and blinked. He was sweating and his heart was pounding. He lifted his hands and looked at them. They were the same hands, not old and crippled. He put them to his face and felt the stubble on his chin. Alive, he thought. I'm alive!

Shaking he swung his feet out of bed and slowly walked to front office. He looked at the clock. 5am. The morning shift would be here soon. A grin stole over Bill's face and he did a quiet little jig. Alive! The dreams he had experienced upset him greatly, but he was still alive!

Once his relief came he would go home, shower and have a decent sleep. No. He thought. No, he would go home, call Ann and tell her he missed her, shower, change, then go to the Blakes for Christmas lunch. Yes! Reaching down behind the counter he grabbed the wrapped whiskey bottle.

Later that morning, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in a suit with a green tie, Bill strolled happily to the Blake's home. Ann had been delighted and surprised to hear from him and said she was going to cut her trip short and return tomorrow for Boxing Day! Under his arm he carried the wrapped bottle as a gift for Blake. As he walked he looked at the world with fresh eyes, enjoying the bright summer day. He admired all the Christmase decorations and shop window displays with joy. Breathing deeply he could smell the fragrant aromas of pne trees and Christmas lunches wafting through the air. He laughed as he dodged the children riding their new bikes or trying out their new skates. The Salvos were out again singing carols of joy on the street corner and he put a pound note in their collection tin. And when the pretty young Salvation Army girl wished him a 'Merry Christmas' he responded with 'and a very happy one to you too!'

Bill paused a bit as he reached the veranda of the Blakes' home. He noticed the bows and smiled to himself. Listening he heard Doctor Blake playing the piano and happy laughing voices. With some trepidation Bill rang the doorbell. The piano stopped playing and he heard the Doctor coming up the hallway. Jean's voice was there too and both Jean and Blake opened the door to greet him.

'Merry Christmas Jean, Doctor,' he said with a grin and presnted Blake with the bottle.

Blake smiled a welcome at Bill and said 'Bravo Bill! Bravo.'

Jean reached out, took his arm and brought him in to their hearth, home and hearts.

...

Note: I am a big fan of Dickens. 'A Christmas Carol' is my go-to read every Christmas. Writing Bill as Scrouge was fun. Joy of the Season to you all.


	7. Chapter 7

7\. Smash and Grab

Wednesday, 4.45pm, Jacobs Jewellery, Heathcote.

Samuel Jacobs was concentrating on the intricate watch repair when he heard the bell jingle on the shop door. Glancing up from his work, he called to the two men dressed in overcoats who had just entered, 'Be with you in a minute!' Peering through his loop he continued to reseat the jewelled movement into the silver cased pocket watch. He did not notice as one of the men pulled a crowbar out from under his coat or the other produced a hammer from his pocket.

At the sharp crystalline crash of breaking glass Sam dropped his work in surprise. The watch fell to the floor, the movement exploding into a dozen pieces. He gaped at the two men who were grabbing handfuls of gold necklaces, bracelets, rings and pearl pendants from the shattered counter display and shoving them into a shabby Gladstone bag. Sam half rose from his workbench to protest when the man with the crowbar raised it threateningly and snarled 'Shut it. Sit down.' Sam sank fearfully back down and watched in anguish as the second man swept every diamond engagement ring from the front window display into the bag.

Crowbar man watched Sam closely, lightly tapping the bar into his open palm in a meaningful way. Hammer man at the window turned and said quietly over his shoulder 'Done. Let's scarper.'

Backing away while watching Sam all the time, Crowbar man joined his accomplice at the door. Both men cast a sweeping glance around the room and then rapidly walked out the front door. They had been in the shop less than 5 minutes.

Sam was frozen in shock for a full 10 seconds. Then he rose in panic and frantically looked around his destroyed shop. He rushed to the front door, carefully stepping through the broken glass. Throwing the door open he looked out to see a dark Holden driving off down the main street. Dismally he looked back into the shop, realising that every item of any real value had been taken. The thieves had left only the cheap silver trinkets and poor quality watches behind. With dawning realisation Sam remembered that the insurance premium was two months overdue. His shoulders slumped and he knew that he was ruined.

...

On Wednesday the following week, just after 4.30pm, two over-coated men walked into Leach's Jewellers branch in Bendigo. Casually strolling into the shop they waited a few minutes until the last customers had cleared the store. The shop clerk looked at the two men curiously and asked,

'May I help you? We are closing now.'

The taller man stepped forward and cold cocked him with a sucker punch. Out cold, the clerk did not hear the shattering glass.

...

Over the next 3 weeks, every Wednesday, a different jewellery store in the Central Victorian goldfield area was hit by the two smash and grab thieves. Maldon, Creswick and then Dalyesford were all targeted. The Powers That Be at the City Metro Police Office were concerned and were considering setting up a specific Task Force if the problem escalated. The CMPO released a interim Bulletin putting all local police departments on high alert.

That Tuesday afternoon Bill Hobart scanned the bulletin with interest. Details were sketchy. The victims had been either knocked out or had been too shocked by the sudden violence of the robberies to really note specifics. Descriptions were very general, 'two men, one short (5'6") and stout, one tall (6') and dark featured, both in overcoats and driving a dark coloured Holden' did not tell him much. The taller man appeared to favour a crowbar, while the smaller a hammer. Hammer man seemed to be the one in charge, but that was still being debated. The MO was always the same, sometime between 4.30 and 5pm on a Wednesday afternoon a local jewellery store was targeted. In every case it was a one-man operation that was attacked. These were small family owned businesses with little or no security to speak of.

In spite of concerted inquiries at every pawn shop and with every known fence between here and Melbourne there was no trace, as yet, of the goods being sold. Now Lawson was concerned that Ballarat would be next on the hit list. The local Shop Owner's Association were putting pressure on him to do something before someone was seriously injured. Lawson had assigned Bill to investigate and come up with suggestions. Bill just wished that someone had at least had the presence of mind to have noted down the rego number. It would have made his job much easier. As it was, this report wasn't a lot of help and he didn't have much to go on.

'Right' thought Bill to himself, 'Think this through. What have you got?' He got up and wrote on the chalk board:

'2 suspects - smash and grab'

'Dark Holden, 3rd driver?' He scratched that out, no one had reported a get-away driver.

'Wednesdays'

'4.30 - 5pm'

'Heathcote, Malden, Dalyesford, Creswick...'

Bill stopped and considered. He turned to the large map on the wall behind Lawson's desk. Taking out some red push pins from his desk drawer he put a pin into every town location on the map. He took a step back and thought.

'Interesting', said Lawson's drawling voice behind him. Bill glanced over his shoulder and saw Lawson and Dr. Blake watching him. Bill nodded his head.

'Yep. Look at this,' he spread his large hand over the area, placing his palm down in the centre

'Each township hit is within a 25 to 30 mile radius of Castlemaine.'

'So you think they might live in Castlemaine?' asked Blake.

'Maybe. Don't know. I do think they may be _recognised_ in Castlemaine. Perhaps that's why they are avoiding it.'

'Then Ballarat might be a bit too far afield for them?' questioned Blake.

'No, not too far, maybe too inconvenient until now', responded Lawson. 'There are only so many small town jewellery stores in this area,' he waved his hand around Castelmaine, 'they can't hit the same places twice too soon. They are going to have to move further out. We're the next logical stop.'

'I don't know, Boss,' mused Bill slowly. 'I keep coming back to the timing. Why Wednesdays between 4.30 and 5pm? It is odd. Very odd. Thieves don't usually work to a time-clock.'

Blake chortled, 'You think their wives need them back for dinner by 6pm?'

Bill suddenly had a light-bulb moment and his mouth dropped open in shock.

'No Doc! Not their wives!'

He turned excitedly to the papers on his desk and frantically shuffled them around. Doctor Blake looked at Lawson and raised an eyebrow. Lawson shrugged a 'I don't know' back.

'Here, here it is! Look, at this,' and he thrust a 6 month old copy of the Police Gazette in their faces. 'Look, page 7. See?' and he pointed out an article to his superiors. The men read the indicated article in disbelief.

'You're kidding, Bill. This is a story about the new special day-release work program for the Castlemaine Gaol! You're not seriously suggesting...' Lawson was appalled.

'Look, it works.' Bill referred to the article, 'Low-risk prisoners nearing the end of their sentences are to be given the opportunity to work locally on farms and manufacturers in the Castelmaine area on one day a week to help them adjust back into society. They have a day-release parole once a week, are escorted to and from the gaol by a prison officer, requiring them to be back to lock-up by 6pm.'

'Hmmmm,' mused Blake, 'So you are saying, some enterprising prisoner is using the opportunity to set himself up financially for when he is released?'

'Yes,' Bill was emphatic. 'The robberies all take place on his day of release and all late afternoon. After he has finished his work placement but before he is due back for the official count and lock down.'

'You do realise this also means his escorting officer is complicit.' said Lawson grimly.

Bill nodded, 'That's why they couldn't rob any Castlemain store for fear of recognition. He is probably local. At the very least he would have been seen in the town.'

Lawson considered for a moment or two, then spoke again. 'Bill, contact the Castlemaine gaol and find out how many prisoners are undertaking the work program. Find out who their escorting officers are.'

'Right Boss. But, one more thing,' Bill hesitated,

'Go on,' encouraged Lawson.

'Well, if they are going to hit a store in Ballarat tomorrow, I don't know how we can stop them. We just don't have the man-power to put a policeman into all 12 jewellery, gold exchanges and department stores in Ballarat.'

Lawson frowned at Bill, 'And your suggestion?'

Bill took a deep breath. What he was going to suggest wasn't strictly police protocol.

'We tell every jeweller in town to watch out, but do nothing. If they get hit to call us immediately. Ballarat is over an hour drive to Castlemaine. They are going to be pushing it to get back in time for lock up. They're going to want to take the fastest route back. So I reckon we set up road blocks on the Midland Hwy out of town and catch them on the run home.'

'Hmmmm. Risky. But if it fails, or they hit another town instead of Ballarat, we can still try and track them back to the gaol. Right, Bill, contact the warden at Castlemaine. But be discreet. We just need the names of the parolees and their escorting officers. He doesn't have to know why. Say, oh, we are taking an interest in the scheme and want to encourage it or something. I'll get the troops organised. Blake, go home, I'll see you tonight.'

Blake rose to go, but before leaving he clapped Bill on the shoulder then held his hand out. Bill looked at Blake then took the proffered hand. Shaking it with gusto Blake pronounced,

'Well done Bill, you'll be running this place yet!'

Bill rolled his eyes at Blake and just muttered 'gedoutta'er'.

...

The Warden of Castelmaine Gaol waxed lyrical about the benefits and how the new scheme would help offenders rejoin society and become law-abiding members thereof. Bill patiently heard him out, although he was privately of the opinion that once bent it was hard to get straight again. Still, he was willing to allow that it _could_ happen, on occasion, if the circumstances were right. Maybe.

Finally the warden gave Bill the information he needed. There were 6 offenders currently taking advantage of the scheme. Only two of those were on Wednesday release. Bill thanked the Warden and promised that his superior would be in touch to discuss the Work Release program with him soon.

'Love to be fly on the wall when Lawson talks about _that_ with him' Bill chuckled to himself. Bill spent a few more minutes on the phone cross checking details then reported to Lawson.

Lawson looked up from his desk at Bill. 'Well?'

'Only two on work release on a Wednesday. I did a little more checking and I think I've got our blokes. Tom Royson is serving 3 to 5 for aggravated break and enter. He's also got form for burglary. His minder is Mark Turner. Seems both are Castlemaine lads from way back. Went to the same Primary School. Turner has only been a warder at the gaol for 2 years, has a good work record, but get this, he drives a late model Holden.'

'Sounds like our men. Well done Bill. Go finish up and get home. You're with me at the road block tomorrow afternoon.'

...

Bill had a restless night. He worried about his decisions late into the night. Was it all just supposition? It felt right in his gut, but he didn't have a lot of evidence to go on. What if there was no robbery tomorrow at all? Or if there was one, it was down in Bacchus Marsh or some other town, not Ballarat. What if someone got hurt? Maybe he should call Lawson and convince him to try and get Melbourne officers down and post them in the stores? or close the stores? or... He tossed and turned until finally he had to get up and have a hot drink. He added a good shot of rum to his simmering cup of Milo, sat down in his easy-chair and open his well thumbed copy of David Copperfield and began to read...' _Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life...'_ He read until he finished his drink and his head dropped to his chest.

...

The tension in the Station was palpable all day Wednesday. The men carried on with their usual duties but were on edge. At 4 o'clock, police cars were stationed unobtrusively behind screening gum trees on the outgoing lanes of the two main roads out of Ballarat heading to Castlemaine. They would roll the cars out into a road block if required. Bill and Lawson sat on tenterhooks listening to the police radio band in the car. Another car with Sergeant Charlie Davis and another officer parked next to them on the Midland Highway verge. The cicadas in the gum trees were singing their deafening song. The road was quiet, only the occasional sedan or farm vehicle rumbling by. Bill watched the road in the distance.

Just after 4.40 the radio squawked into life...'...robbery reported at Allen's Jewellery store, suspects fleeing in dark Holden, heading down the Midland Hwy...'

Lawson motioned to the officers in the car next to him, then Bill leaned down and turned on the ignition. The support car moved out to block the outbound lane. Both officers got out of the car and started to direct the sparse traffic around the road block. It wasn't long at all before a speeding car came into view in the distance. As it came closer they could identify it as a Holden doing well over the speed limit. Charlie stepped out and tried to flag it down. The car accelerated toward him and he danced out of the way. At that moment Bill gunned his engine and his car screamed forward blocking the inner lane. The speeding car swerved to avoid a collision and smashed nose first into the ditch of the median strip.

The driver of the Holden had been flung forward into the wheel and had struck his head, knocking himself out. The passenger hurled his door open and took to his heels heading for the bush. Bill leapt out of the car and flew after him in pursuit. Close on his heels Charlie followed. Dodging around trees and bush, the suspect was fast but Bill was faster and slowly gaining on him. Bill could hear the man wheezing and panting as he struggled up a small rise. As they reached the apex of the hill Bill had come close enough to reach out and grab the man, throwing both arms around his chest. They waltzed together then tumbled down into the bracken. Charlie came panting up the hill behind them and watched as the two men wrestled. Bill rolled off Tom Royston and came to his feet shouting,

'You're under arrest!'

Tom looked up at Bill's fierce face and put his hands up in surrender. Bill and Charlie reached down and dragged Tom to his feet, hauling him back down the hill and into custody.

...

As always, after any police action there was a mountain of paper work and reports to fill out. Interviews to be held. Investigations to follow up on. A search of Mark Turner's flat had revealed a cache of gold, diamond rings and other jewellery hidden under the floorboards. A boat ticket to Rio was also found among the jewels - the liner was leaving from Princess Pier, Melbourne in 3 weeks, a good 6 months before any release had been possible for Tom Royston. It seemed Turner was the mastermind behind the smash and grab raids. He and Tom had been childhood friends, but had lost contact with each other as they got older. Mark Turner had big dreams and no money, Tom had the skills he needed to achieve his goals. He had sought Tom out in gaol and renewed the contact. He had really only wanted a few 'tips' on how to get some easy money, but the new 'work release' scheme was a gift. Turner had seen right off how he could benefit from it. It did not take too much to convince Tom to apply to the scheme and then help Turner execute the smash and grab robberies during his work days. Tom had believed that Turner was helping him set up for when he was released. Whether Turner ever really intended to share any of the stolen wealth with Tom Royston is doubtful, considering the ticket, but both men would have many years together in a cell to argue the point.

Bill was happy and more than a little relieved that his hunch had paid off and two more bad guys were behind bars. But the icing on the cake was The Divisional Commendation for Exemplary Service medal that Lawson presented to him later that month.

And the beer Lawson bought him at the Pig n' Whistle after.


	8. Chapter 8

8\. Famous Bill novels, opening lines

*This is just a bit of silliness... but what if my favourite authors were writing about Bill Hobart? (apologies to all)*

...

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a copper in possession of a good law, must be in want of a thief to catch." _Jane Austen_

"You don't know about me without you have seen a telly-o-vision show by the name of Dr. Blake Mysteries, but that ain't no matter" _Mark Twain_

'In a little house in Ballarat there lived a policeman. Not a nasty, dirty, damp house filled with ends of cigarettes and a cabbagg-y smell, nor yet a dry, bare house with nothing in it to sit down or to eat; it was the Hobart's house, at that means comfort." _J.R.R. Tolkien_

 _"_ Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents" grumbled Bill, lying on the rug." _Louisa May Alcott_

Bill was beginning to get very tired of sitting by Lawson in the office and having nothing to do; once or twice he had peeped into the report his Boss was writing, but it had no punch-ups or arrests in it. 'And what is the use of a report,' thought Bill, 'without a bit of biffo or thief taking?" _Lewis Carrol_

"Once there were four policemen whose names were Bill, Matthew, Charlie and Ned. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from Ballarat during the war because of the Begonia Festival." _C.S. Lewis_

"Call me Sergeant Hobart." _Herman Melville_

"He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed under stare that made you think of an angry bulldog." _Joseph Conrad_

"All policemen, except one, get promoted." _J.M. Barrie_

"Now is the winter of our discontent, Made glorious summer by this son of Ballart," _William Shakespere_

"To Bill Hobart, she is always _THE_ woman." _Arthur Conan Doyle_

"Once upon a time, when the world was young, there was a policman named Bill." _Robert Heinlein_

"Bill lived in the midst of the Great Victorian plains, with Lucien Blake, who was a Doctor, and Jean Blake, who was the doctor's wife." _L. Frank Baum_

"An hour before sunset, on the evening of the day begining of October, 1961, a policeman travelling afoot entered the little town of Ballarat." _Victor Hugo_

"There was no possibility of Bill walking the beat that day." _Charlotte Bronte_

"When Bill Hobart was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of his home and went into the mountains of Victoria." _Friedrich Nietzsche_

"On an exceptionally hot evening early in January, a policeman came out of the Station where he was assigned and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards the Colonial Club." _Fyodor Dosteyevsky_

"Everyone had always said that Bill would be a policeman when he grew up, just like his father." _James Baldwin_

"Bill Hobart was a very unusal policeman in many ways." _J.K. Rowling_

"The Policeman had been working very hard all morning, spring-cleaning his desk of old reports." _Kenneth Grahame_

 _..._

 _*And you now know some of my favourite reads... maybe I can work up that Jane Austen version into something...*_


	9. Chapter 9

**9\. Jacaranda Summer**

They swung their clasped hands together as they strolled down the alleyway in the moonlit night. The girl giggled a little in delight when the lad stopped and put his arm gently around her waist.

'Give us a kiss, luv', he said, his voice breaking slightly. The girl leaned forward and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. 'Aww, Jess!' protested the boy pulling her in closer. But Jess broke from his grasp and danced away.

'I'll give you more than a kiss if you catch me, Bryan!' Jess tossed off the school bag she had looped over her shoulder and ran a short distance away. She looked back coyly at Bryan and made smacking sounds with her mouth.

'Jess! Don't be such a dag!' called Bryan as he started to trot after her in the dark. Jess turned and streaked off into the night with Bryan in hot pursuit.

…..

Sergeant Bill Hobart looked sadly down at Jessie Hamilton, only 16 and lying dead in the backyard of her Nan's place. Like a rain of violet snow, the jacaranda tree she lay under had dropped a blanket of petals covering her with a brilliant shroud. A clashing splash of red on her forehead indicated how she had died. Bill could see 'Nanny' Beryl Hamilton sitting on the rear veranda watching him stoically. She had found Jessie early this morning when had she came out to feed the chooks. He could see the line of her footprints through the purple petals coming up to Jess, then scuffling back to the house. Nan had called him on his home phone, as they had known each other since Bill was a lad, she had been calm but insistent that she had wanted him to be the one see to her grandchild first. Bill had come over immediately after making a quick call to Lawson to report in and now he was waiting for back up and Doctor Blake to arrive.

Bill stood by the body, looking carefully but not disturbing the scene. He had felt Jessies' neck for a pulse, just in case, but she was stone cold. Jess was dressed in her blue checked summer school uniform with short white socks and black patent leather school shoes. He took careful note of how she was lying, flat on her back with her arms at her sides, her legs neatly together, shoes pointing to the sky. Her lovely long chestnut hair had come adrift from its ponytail and was splayed around her head, mixing in with the blossoms. Jess's blue eyes were open and staring lifelessly at the sky, violet petals dusting her face. All in all, she looked like a pre-Raphaelite romantic vision.

Stepping back gingerly and ducking under the low branches of the sprawling tree, Bill retraced his footprints through the purple petals. He made a slow circuit of the yard, his eyes scanning the ground. At the rear of back yard, just left of the chook shed was an open gate leading to the service alley behind. Bill stepped into the alley and looked left then right. About 100 feet or so to the right he spotted a school bag abandoned in the gutter. Striding quickly over he picked up the blue bag and peered inside to find a collection of various 5th form text books, binders, a pencil case and a blackened banana. Pulling out the maths text book he flipped it open to read on the fly leaf 'Jessie Hamilton, 5C'. Also scrawled on the inside cover was a drawing of a heart with 'I luv B.' scrawled inside it. Bill put the book back into the bag and hooking the bag over his arm he returned to the yard.

Bill was completing his circuit of the back yard when he heard Lawson's voice at the side gate. Glancing at Nan for permission, he strode over and opened the gate to let in Chief Inspector Lawson and Dr. Lucien Blake.

'Bill,' greeted Blake shortly.

'Doc,' responded Bill in acknowledgement.

'What have we got?' Lawson was equally brusque.

Bill flipped open his notepad; not that he needed to, it was just comfortable to have in his hand while he spoke, 'Young Jessica Hamilton, 16 years old, she lived with her Grandmother Beryl Hamilton. She was out late last night at the end of year school concert. Her Nan had gone to bed early so didn't know she hadn't come home. Found Jess under the jacaranda tree this morning when she came out to feed the chickens.' Bill nodded his head in the direction of the girls' body. Then he held out the school bag he had found, 'Looks like she dropped this in the alley behind the house.'

Lawson glanced inside the bag briefly. 'Ballarat High.'

Bill grunted in agreement.

'How is Mrs. Hamilton taking it?' asked Lawson.

Bill glanced up at Nan. 'Hard. Jess was her only grandchild, her son's girl. He died in Korea. Her daughter never married, lives over in Maldon.'

'Best you go sit with her while Blake and I have a look, okay? And call the daughter and see if she can get over here today.'

Bill nodded. As Blake and Lawson moved over to the girl's body, Bill turned and approached the rear veranda where Beryl 'Nan' Hamilton was sitting, staring out at the jacaranda tree. He looked up at her and asked, 'Mind if I join you Nan? Do you want a cuppa?'

Nan broke off her gaze from what was happening in the yard to look at Bill. Her watery blue eyes stared at him uncomprehending for a moment then she nodded at him. 'Please Bill, just sit here with me for a bit.'

Bill mounted the steps to the veranda, put the school bag down and sat on the bench next to Nan's chair. He reached over and gently took her hand in his. 'I'm so sorry, Nan. So sorry. Jess was a grand little sheila.'

Nan sighed, her eyes filled with tears. 'What'll I do now Bill? That's the last of my boy, John, gone. You're not supposed to outlive your grandchildren.' She shook her head miserably. Bill put his arm around Nan's shoulder and held her. After a bit he managed to cox her to her feet and bring her into the house. Bill didn't want Nan to see the Doc messing about with Nan. He sat her down in the kitchen and made her a strong cup of tea with lots of sugar in it. While she was drinking it, he called Nan's daughter June (her number was on the fridge) and told her what had happened. June would be there in about an hour or so, she said.

Bill returned to Nan and watched her carefully. She was a strong woman but he was worried how the shock had affected her. After a few moments Nan looked up at him and asked, 'Can I see her? Can I just go see her one more time before they take her away?'

Bill considered. 'Well Nan, if you are sure...?' Nan nodded tearfully.

'I am sure it will be alright but I need to ask the Doc first, you just sit here and finish your tea. I will be right back and get you.' Bill got up and strode out of the house, down the veranda steps and over to where Blake and Lawson were viewing the body. Blake was crouched down and carefully manipulating Jess's head and shoulders. Lawson stood to one side observing. Bill walked around the back of the tree behind them and ducking his head under a low branch.

'It's very strange,' Blake was musing, 'Look how she is positioned. Almost as if someone has laid her out like this, arms at the sides, legs straight…'

'Boss?' inquired Bill.

Lawson looked up in query, 'Yes?'

'Nan would really appreciate seeing Jess before the ambos take her away. She was too shook up earlier to really see her. You think that would be okay?'

Lawson considered and asked, 'Lucien? what do you think?'

Blake looked up from what he was doing and nodded. 'Can't see how it will hurt, she is a strong character from what Bill says. It may help her. I've seen everything I can here, anything else will need to be done in the morgue.'

Bill quickly turned to go back the way he came and almost ran into the low hung branch he had ducked earlier. Putting his hand out to steady himself he crouched under and slipped to the other side, his hand running over the dark bark of the tree. Bill stopped and looked down at his hand in shock, there was blood on it.

'Doc! Look at this,' Bill pointed out the blood on his hand and then looked closely at the branch. 'There's blood here, and look,' Bill pulled a long strand of chestnut brown hair that had been snagged on the rough bark of the branch.

Both Blake and Lawson came around to see what Bill had discovered. 'I think she clocked herself,' said Bill in surprise.

Blake nodded in agreement, 'I think you are right. Also, I cannot be certain until I have examined her more closely, but she may have broken her neck.'

Lawson blinked. 'She must have been pushed hard into the tree for that to happen...'

'Or,' mused Bill, 'was running from someone or something and forgot to duck.'

...

Lawson stood by the side gate and held the ambulance crew back while Bill careful held Nans arm and escorted her down the back stairs and over the lawn to where Jessie lay. Blake stood respectfully to one side as he watched Nan crouch down and gently stroke the girl's chestnut hair. She pulled a pair of small embroidery scissors out of the pocket of her apron and snipped off a long lock. Carefully coiling the tress, she tucked it into the pocket. Then she brought her hand to her mouth, kissed it, and transferred the 'kiss' to Jess's cold cheek.

'Goodbye my Jessie-girl. Love you. Be good.' She said with a catch in her voice.

Nan looked up to Bill who gave her his arm and helped her to rise. Bill walked her back into the house, where they sat together in the lounge room as the ambos took Jess away.

…

Blake came in to wait with Bill and Nan for June to arrive. He was concerned for Nan and offered a light sedative to help her sleep.

'No, Love. I'll be right. June will sit with me tonight.' Nan was adamant she did not need it.

Blake looked at her and considered. 'Well, I'll leave something with June just in case. Better to have it there and not need it than regret not taking it, eh?'

Nan just smiled at his sadly. 'At my age Love, you don't ever get much sleep anymore. The bones ache too much for comfort. Ach, I don't know what I'll do without my Jessie-girl! She was always willing to help out, such a joy to have around. Never was a bother like some girls are at that age.'

Bill looked over to Nan, this was just the segue he had been hoping for, 'No boy-trouble then, Nan?'

She gave a bit of a chuckle, 'Jess had a few fellas' panting after her for sure! But she was good as gold, there was nothing to them. Just all good mates.'

'So, nobody special, really?' Bill continued.

'That Bryan White bloke from the 6th form class seemed really interested. But Jess told me there wasn't anything serious between them. She was really keen to do well on her Leaving and get into the HSC so she could go to new Monash University in Melbourne. She was clever you know. Really smart. She used to sit under that there jac'randa tree while studying. Overgrown weed of a thing. Said if a blossom ever fell on her head it meant good luck for her exams.' Nan sighed. 'Said she was going to go to that university. Imagine that, University! And me never even getting to finish primary.'

Bill gently said. 'Not for the want of smarts, Nan. I know where Jess got that from.'

'Mum! Mum! Are you alright?' The front door swung open and Nan's daughter June ran in. She hurried to her mother's side and enveloped her in a hug, holding her tightly. All of Nan's carefully maintained composure broke and she began to weep in her daughters' arms.

…..

Bill and Doctor Blake took their leave of the two mourning women. Waiting outside for them was Lawson and the three met to compare notes.

Blake said. 'I'll do the autopsy this afternoon, but I don't think it will tell us much more than what we already suspect. Death from head trauma compounded by spinal injury in the neck.'

Lawson nodded. 'We just need to find out how it happened, and who laid her out like that and why.'

Bill spoke up. 'Nan said that she had an bloke, a 6th form boy, Bryan White. I don't know him, he doesn't have any form that I know of. But in her maths textbook she had written hearts around the letter 'B', so maybe more was going on there than Nan suspected.'

'Right,' said Lawson, 'Bill, head up to the High School and see if you can speak to the lad. Mind how you go Bill, don't frighten him, just talk.'

Bill grunted.

….

Bill waited uncomfortably outside the Principals' office at the Ballarat High School. He squirmed a little on the hard, wooden seat. This reminded him all too much of the times he had waited for a promised canning outside this very office. The receptionist looked at him with a steely gaze and bade him to enter.

It was a quick discussion with the Principal, John Halliday. Halliday was shocked and saddened to hear of Jessies' death. No, she had been no trouble, rather, a joy to teach. She had been a clever girl and only last night had brought honour to the school with her reading of some Shakespeare sonnets at the concert. She was going to be sadly missed. The Principal was concerned but agreed to pull Bryan White out of his afternoon English Literature class to talk to Bill. A page for 'Bryan White to come to the office' was promptly announced over the school P.A.

...

Bill waited in an unused school room for Bryan to be brought to him to interview. Desks and chairs were lined in rows. A map of the world showing the red of the Commonwealth was pinned to one wall and a portrait of a young Queen Elizabeth stared across the room at her printed domain. Bill pulled over a chair and sat down. The dusty smell of chalk tickled his nose and Bill sneezed.

'Bless you,' said Principal Halliday from the doorway.

Bill looked up to see Halliday enter the room accompanied by Bryan White. The Principal had a firm grasp on Bryans' upper arm. Bryan was a tall, gangly boy of around 17 or so, just on the verge of manhood. His face was pale and aprehensive.

'Young White here, tried to do a runner when he heard you were looking for him. We caught him just leaving the school grounds.' Halliday gave Bryan a little shake.

'Siddown.' He thrust him down into a school desk chair.

'I don't know what you want to talk to him about Sergeant, but I had better stay and listen.' Halliday sat in the chair next to Bill.

Bill gave a bit of a grunt. 'Humph. Right, you're Bryan White?'

The boy nodded fearfully.

'You were Jessie Hamilton's boyfriend?'

Bryan didn't say anything, his eyes skittered around the room searching for a way out.

'White!' barked Halliday, 'Answer the question!'

Bryan jumped and looked at Bill, then nodded his head. 'Yes, I was walking out with Jess.'

'And last night?' asked Bill. 'You were with her last night?'

Bryan nodded again.

'You walked her home? What happened Bryan, what happened to Jessie?' Bill's voice was gently but insistant. Bryan broke.

'Sorry, I'm sorry. Oh, I'm so sorry, it was an accident! We were just mucking about...' Bryan started to cry.

Bill pulled a large handkercheif out of his pocket and handed it to Bryan, who took it and wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Halliday glared at Bryan and started to speak, but Bill held up his hand and gave him a _look_. Halliday subsided.

'Bryan,' Bills' voice was soft and gruffly gentle, 'tell me. You'll feel better if you tell.'

Bryan drew in a shuddering breath and started to speak, 'It were such a great night. The concert was the best one ever, everyone said so. Jessie was terrific... we were...' Bryan hesitated.

'Go on,' Bill encouraged. 'You and Jess?'

'Me and Jess, well, Jess was my girl. Someday we were getting married... later...but sometimes we...'

'You filthy little...'growled Halliday.

'Quiet!' barked Bill to Halliday. Turning back to Bryan he said in a consoling voice. 'It's okay Bryan, what happens between a bloke and his girl is private. As long as the bloke doesn't hurt her. You didn't hurt Jess, did you?'

'No! Never! I loved Jess! But Jess was... well, sometimes she liked to tease a bit, lead a bloke on, you know?'

Bill nodded, letting Bryan continue.

'She wouldn't let me kiss her, unless I caught her. Jess was being a bit of a goose, she was running about in the dark. She liked playing 'kiss chasey' like we were a couple of little kids. She ran down the alley ahead of me. I could hardly see, the moon was clouding over.' Bryan drew in another sighing breath. 'She ran ahead, I couldn't catch her. She ran into her Nan's yard and I almost got her, but she sort of put on a burst of speed and.. and..' tears ran down Bryan's face.

'Yes?' asked Bill softly.

'There was this sort of a thump.'

'A thump?'

Bryan had a look of misery on his face. 'A thump. I couldn't see Jess anywhere. I looked around the yard and then I saw her on the ground under the tree. She was just laying there, she didn't move. I couldn't get her to wake up.' Bryan voice was panicked as he relived the scene. 'I shook her but she wouldn't wake up. She wasn't breathing. She wouldn't wake up!'

He put his head in his hands and sobbed.

Halliday looked at Bill horrified. Bill made a soothing motion with his hand to keep Halliday quiet.

'Why didn't you try and get Nan, Bryan? Why didn't you go tell someone?'

'I don't know! I just... I just thought that maybe... I don't know what I thought. That she would wake up in the morning maybe. That she wasn't really dead, she couldn't be dead! I don't know. I didn't know what to do. So I just sort of straighted her up a bit, she was all sprawled out and I wanted her to be comfortable... Then I kissed her... she looked so beautiful laying there in the moonlight, she didn't look dead at all... and I went home...' Bryan put his head back into his hands and mourned.

...

Later that day Bill was back in the Station typing out his report. Blakes' autopsy report had arrived suporting Bryans' story; fragments of bark had been found in the Jessies' head wound. Death by misadventure would be on the death certificate. No charges would be laid against Bryan. Lawson had agreed with Bill that to charge Bryan would serve no purpose, he would have his entire life to live without Jess as punishment enough. Bill had spoken to Nan and she also agreed that it sounded like a horrible accident and no one could be held responsible.

'Just a couple of kids, just mucking about in the dark,' Nan sorrowed. 'But Bill, I'm having that damn weed of a tree chopped down. I don't think I can bear to look at it ever again. It didn't bring my Jess no luck. No luck at all.'

...


	10. Chapter 10

10\. The Bill Cases: Cut and dried

Lifting his head to inhale the early morning, Shane O'Neill was suddenly caught and forced to bend over in a coughing fit.

'Bugger me,' he thought as he gasped for breath. After last haymaking season he had been laid up for weeks with a bad case of Farmer's Lung and he devoutly hoped he wasn't due for a relapse. He needed to start baling today and could not afford lost time with the wind getting up the way it was. Wiping his mouth, Shane straightened up and drew another careful breath of the morning air.

'You right there Shane?' called out his wife, Mary, from the kitchen.

'Fine love, fine. Just caught a bug in me throat,' he lied.

Shane surveyed the view from his veranda, looking out over his back paddock hayfield to the low hills of the State Forest bordering his land. Shane scowled, he could hear the faint sound of an illegal chain saw in the forest.

'Bloody Thompson brothers' he swore. 'Those clowns are in the forest again!' he called out to Mary. He heard Mary make a 'hurrumph' sound and mutter 'idiots'. It had been wet through spring and early summer. It had been a good growing season for grass, but that also meant lots of new undergrowth in the forest creating lots of tinder. Dangerous to cut timber in this weather, everyone knew that.

His grass had grown well, but the weather had stayed damp until just after Christmas. Only in early January had the dry started, so his cut was late this year. But the weather had finally turned and turned with a vengeance. They were now in the middle of a heat wave and had already had three consecutive days of high temperatures. Everything was starting to get crackling dry. Today was forecast at over 100f with a late cool change, so he needed to get his skates on and bale this hay before it dried out too much or got wet and became useless as winter fodder.

'I'll be back at dinner-time,' shouted Shane to Mary.

He heard her faint 'Mind how you go, luv' as he strode off.

...

Mary bustled about the house and kitchen all morning, washing breakfast dishes, grumbling about Shanes' dirty footprints on the kitchen floor, cleaning up and trying to get the bulk of her work done before the heat set in. The north wind began to gust its' furnace blast through the open windows around mid-morning and Mary hustled to shut up the house to keep the cool in and the heat out. As she did so she noticed a tickling smell in her nose. She froze for a second then began to rush to shut the windows tight. Racing to the rear veranda she scanned the horizon. A hot gust of wind blew the faint smell of smoke in her face and she knew for sure. Fire, burning in the hills, not visible yet, but it was there and it was coming.

...

Shane didn't notice the smell until he was at the end of the paddock, as far from the house as he could possibly be. He stopped the tractor and stood up, scanning the nearby hills. The wind blew a fierce gust of hot air, smoke and the smell of burning eucalyptus into his face. Shane began to cough again, and as he watched, it seemed like the entire ridge of the hillside suddenly exploded into a sheet of flame. Hurriedly he sat down and tried to restart the tractor, but the engine stalled. In a panic and coughing harshly, he tried again but flooded the engine. Shane heard an almighty roaring sound behind him as the trees on the hill began to crown-fire. The sky was filled with smoke and glowing an evil red. The north wind was blowing the flames directly down-slope towards the hay field.

'Bugger it, bugger it, bugger it,' He muttered frantically. The engine wouldn't start. He leapt from the dead tractor and began a staggering run toward the house. Ash, smoke and burning embers began shower around him. Coughing and desperately trying to catch his breath to run, he did not stand a chance as the winnowed mounds of dry hay caught fire and the inferno overtook him.

...

The fire was fast and vicious. It burned through the hills and scrubland, the wind throwing burning embers high into the air to rain down miles away and start new spot fires. All CFA volunteers of the Ballarat Rural Fire Brigade were called out to fight the blaze. They cut firebreaks in the hills and back-burned large swathes of forest edges to protect homes and cropping land. Men fought the fire determinedly, but it was an afternoon cool change and rain that really halted the progress of the blaze.

The CFA had arrived at the O'Neill farm in time to save the house and the outbuildings. They found Mary frantically beating out embers with a wet burlap sack. The men pumped water from the house dam and stopped the flames from reaching the house but the hay crop was gone, fences torched and the paddocks burnt black and smoking. Stock was missing or dead. In the distance they could see Shane's burnt out tractor. Mary was distraught and had to be forcibly restrained from running out into the burned paddock to look for Shane.

Shane's body was found only a few hundred feet from his burnt out tractor by the CFA clean-up crew. Senior Fire-fighter Jake Roberts reported the death to the Ballarat police and a requested the medical examiner to attend.

Dr. Lucien Blake arrived at the burnt out O'Neill farm late afternoon accompanied by Senior Sergeant Bill Hobart. It was a grim scene that greeted them. The once pristine farmhouse was darkened by soot and ash. The elm trees around the house were singed and leaves turning brown. The fields behind the house were black and steaming with evaporating rain and smoke. The late rain had put out most of fire in the paddock but there was a line of fire-fighters working the tree line checking for smouldering logs and stumps.

Mary O'Neill sat on the back veranda rocking back and forth and keening softly to herself. Roberts was with her and he rose to greet the two men as they approached.

'Bloody hell.' Said Blake softly, appalled at the devastation.

Bill Hobart said nothing but his face was grimly set.

'It's bad.' said Roberts after introducing himself. Motioning the men to follow him, they left Mary on the veranda and moved off into the burnt out paddock. Roberts brought them to Shane and the men stared down in horror at the charred remains. Bill felt sick at the smell of burned flesh. He did his best imitation of an Easter Island statue trying to compose himself.

'Looks like he was caught trying to outrun the flames,' said Roberts.

'He wouldn't have been able to run fast or far, his lungs were shot.' replied Blake sadly. Shane had been a patient of his and Blake knew all about his recent illness. He knelt down and examined the body carefully. 'Why didn't he drive the tractor back?'

'Mary said the old thing stalled more often than it run. It must have died on him and running was his only option. The fire was that quick he didn't have a chance.' responded Roberts.

Bill looked at the nearby hills. 'How did the fire start? There have been no reports of lightning strikes and I cannot think anyone would be foolish to have a campfire going on a Total Fire Ban day.'

Roberts shook his head. 'Not sure yet, but from what we can tell it started up in the hills behind the farm. We'll be doing a thorough search of the area in the morning.

'I'll be coming with you for that,' insisted Bill. Roberts nodded in agreement.

'Doc,' continued Bill, 'We need to talk to Mary, she'll be in shock. You need to see to her before arranging for the body to be removed.'

'Of course, of course.' Blake was aghast at the scene around him. Although he had grown up in the area he had never experienced the results of a bush fire close up. It was bringing back some horrible war memories. Giving himself a shake he recovered and said, 'I have some mild sedatives in my bag.' With that the three men returned to the house to wait for the arrival of the ambulance to remove the remains.

...

Bill sat with Mary on the veranda. She had stopped weeping and seemed calmer after the sedative Blake had given her. She was nursing a strong, sweet cup of tea that Bill had made for her as they both silently watched the arrival of the ambulance. Blake was in the paddock directing the vehicle to approach.

'I would have liked to have seen my Shane,' murmured Mary.

'No Mary,' said Bill as gently as possible. 'It is best you don't.'

'Still...' she hesitated. '25 years it's been... 25 years.'

'Please, trust me, you don't want to have that memory of him like that. He was a good bloke, your Shane was. Remember him like that.' Bill said.

Mary set her tea down and buried her face in her hands. Bill waited patiently, watching the ambulance in the distance. Mary gave a bit of gulping gasp, wiped her face on her apron and picked up her cup of tea. She took another scalding sip of the sweet, strong tea.

'It were those Thompson boys.' she stated.

Bill looked at her in surprise. 'Jimmy and Bruce? What do they have do to with this?'

Mary looked at Bill defiantly. 'Those two, they've been up the hill cutting timber. All week. With that clapped out old chain saw of their Dad's. That's where the fire came from. Thems the ones that started it for sure.' she settled back, her face set and too another sip of tea.

Bill considered.

Dusk was beginning to fall as the ambulance rolled its way back out of the hay field. Bill and Mary watched it leave as Blake slowly walked back to the house.

'You'll be staying with your sister in town tonight.' Bill stated, it wasn't a question.

'Yes.' Mary was defeated.

'If it was the Thompson boys, I'll get them Mary. No fear, I'll get them.'

Mary shot Bill a glance of thanks as Blake mounted the veranda steps. Bill stood up and took the cup from Mary's hands. Looking at Blake he said, 'We'd best be off then.'

...

Early the next morning Bill joined Roberts and the CFA crew assigned to investigate and locate the source of the fire. Bill had his Basic Fire Certification so was permitted to ride on the CFA truck as observer and investigator. The men had to factor several variables to track the fire progress back to the ignition point. Weather was a major factor, the strong wind coming from the North meant the fire tracked southerly. The topography of the area showed the fire followed the ridgeline of the hills before crowning down to the bottom lands. And finally, the heavy fuel load of the surrounding bush area showed a clearly defined burn track through the State Forest lands behind the O'Neill property.

They progressed slowly up through the ranges, stopping often to put out small smouldering fires, stamping and burying them under shovel loads of dirt. Logs lying on the ground and large trees were heavily burnt on one side also indicating the fire direction.

Smoke and ash was still heavy in the air. The rain over night had settled things down, but also turned the burnt areas into a muddy, ashy, quagmire. Much of the ground fuel load had burned off quickly before the fire had leapt into the tree crowns. This made movement through the dense scrub somewhat easier as the truck followed the old logging trail up the hill and along the ridgeline.

It was late afternoon when the men came to an area of forest that indicated the starting point. A large swath of trees had been clear-felled. Large stacks of cut cord wood were burnt into crumbled piles of char. The men walked through the area noting where a recently felled string-bark tree smouldered and smoked. Roberts prodded the fallen tree with his shovel.

'Cut recently, I'd say. Still green inside which is why it didn't burn through like those wood piles.' he commented to Bill who had joined him. Bill walked around the fallen burned giant shaking his head.

'Didn't think there were any logging licenses granted for this area.' he said.

'There isn't.' Replied Roberts. 'I'd say this is pretty much an illegal lot. Locals probably scoring a bit of the firewood trade for free.'

'Tyre tracks here,' pointed out Bill. 'Leading off downhill, away from the fire. The Thompsons live down that valley, don't they?' questioned Bill.

Roberts nodded. Just then a shout from one of the other fireworks called their attention to the far side of the fallen tree. There, in the middle of a large burnt out section of underbrush was the warped and melted carcass of an old chain saw.

'That's it then.' mused Roberts. Bill looked at him and cocked an eyebrow in question. Roberts kicked the lump of metal, 'This model must be 15-20 years old. My Dad had one. Notorious for spitting petrol and shooting sparks. Whoever was cutting this tree yesterday started this fire, panicked and fled.'

Bill considered. 'I reckon I need to go have a little chat with the Thompson boys about this, eh?'

Roberts nodded. 'Yup.'

...

Before he could visit the Thompsons', Bill had to return to the Station and file his report. He also needed to make a few phone calls around town asking questions. Bill then told his boss, Chief Supt Matthew Lawson, his suspicions about the Thompson brothers. He stood in front of Lawson's desk while the Chief read his report, waiting for the outcome.

Lawson looked up from his reading at Bill, 'So you reckon the Thompson boys were responsible for the fire?'

'Probably not intentionally, but everything points to them being responsible,' responded Bill.

'Your evidence is pretty flimsy, Bill,' pointed out Lawson. 'With a death it is a pretty serious accusation.'

'We've taken casts of the tyre tracks that lead to their homestead. If we can match them to their ute that puts them at the ignition point of the fire. Also, I've made a few inquires at various woodlots in town and it seems they have been supplying stringy-bark firewood on the side for a few months now.'

'Hmmmm,' mused Lawson. 'Cutting from the State Forest without a license is illegal. Selling the wood is also illegal, how have they managed to get the woodlots to take on their cut?

'Seems they have been saying it's all from land clearing on their property. It's not illegal to sell the cut from your land. Thing is though, that side of the hill they live on is mainly old ironbark, all the stringy-bark was cleared out there years ago by the diggers. But all they've been selling is stringy. Most of the stringy is up in the hills where we think they were cutting and where the fire started.

'Right,' said Lawson. 'Go out and see them first thing in the morning. Oh, take Charlie with you, those two have a bit of a rep as brawlers.'

Bill grinned. 'No fear Boss.'

...

The sun was just beginning to warm up when Bill and Snr. Sergeant Charlie Davis drove into the Thompson homestead. The place was an older house, on the verge of tumbling down. Ancient outbuildings clustered around the rear of the house and a few scraggly chickens scratched forlornly in the dirt driveway.

'Not much to look at, eh?' commented Charlie.

'Thompson family have lived here for yonks. Family had one of the original square mile blocks divided out in the 1800's,' Bill informed Charlie.

'Looks like they haven't remodelled since last century.' Charlie observed.

Bill gave a snort. He pulled the police car up to the house and stopped. 'You go check out the outbuildings, see if you can match that tyre track. I'll go chat to the boys.'

Bill got out of the car and climbed the front steps up to the porch while Charlie scooted around the back with paper rubbing taken from the cast of the tyre tracks. Bill stood and listened for a second. From inside the house he could hear someone coughing. Lifting his hand he rapped sharply on the front door. He waited for a moment but there was no answer except the sound of faint coughing. Bill lifted his fist and thumped the front door harder, calling out, 'Jimmy? Bruce? Open up! It's Bill Hobart come to have a chat!' Bill waited again, still no answer.

Charlie came from around the side of the house and joined Bill at the front door. 'Looks like the tyres match. And the truck is pretty badly marked up with smoke and fire damage. They were in the fire for sure. Lots of wood in the back of the ute, but no chain saw.' reported Charlie.

Bill nodded, then banged on the door again. 'JIMMY! BRUCE! I know you're in there, I'm coming in!' He put his shoulder to the door and with a heaving push the flimsy frame gave way and the door burst open. Bill and Charlie lurched into the front room and looked around at the dishevelled mess. The sounds of coughing were louder now, coming from the back room. The two police officers followed the sounds and looked into the rear bedroom.

'Bloody Hell!' swore Charlie.

In the two single beds lay Jimmy and Bruce. Bruce was unconcious, his face a red mess of blisters, his hair and eyebrows burned off. His hands and feet were bound in oozing dirty bandages. In the other bed lay Jimmy, curled into a foetal shape coughing violently, black mucus spattering his pillow.

'Better go radio for an ambulance, Charlie,' instructed Bill.

...

'Will they survive?' asked Lawson back at the Station House.

'Bruce is pretty crook, burns to about 30% of his body. He tried to put the fire out with his feet and his bare hands. Doc says he has a good chance if infection doesn't set in.' said Bill. 'His face is a mess though, scarred for life.'

'And Jimmy?'

'His lungs are pretty much stuffed. He'll survive, but he won't ever be fit again.' reported Bill.

'Did he say what happened?'

'Yes, like we suspected, they were logging for firewood in the State forest. They had their Dad's old chainsaw they were using. Jimmy was loading cut wood into the back of the truck. Bruce had just felled the stringy-bark and was trimming off the branches. The saw started to overheat and began spitting petrol. Stray spark caught the petrol and set the underbrush alight. Bruce threw the saw away and spilled more petrol spreading the fire further. He tried to put it out by stamping on it and slapping it with his hands, but his hair caught. Jimmy dragged him away and rolled him in a sack to put out the flames. By then the fire was out of control. Jimmy was breathing in a lot of smoke, he panicked, threw Bruce into the ute and they fled. Just ran home and hid. Said he didn't realise how bad Bruce was until he got him home. Tried to bandage him, but he was so sick from the smoke he just passed out. Didn't know much of anything until we came and found them.'

Lawson sighed. 'Idiots. Just plain idiots. They are lucky to be alive.'

'Pity Shane O'Neill didn't have their luck,' said Bill sadly.

...

Several hundreds of hectares of bush-land, forest and farmland had been destroyed. Thousands of pounds worth of stock, fencing and outbuildings had been lost. No homes had burned thanks to the efforts of the CFA, but the financial effects of the blaze would be felt in the Ballarat for many years. There were many injuries and burns, but Shane O'Neill was the only death. Jimmy and Bruce were charged with criminal negligence and manslaughter and each was convicted to 20 year stretch. A goodly portion of that time was spent in prison hospital. Neither they nor Mary O'Neill ever recovered from the effects of the fire. And as stoic as he might seem to most, it was many months before the image of Shane O'Neill in his hay paddock stopped haunting Bill's dreams.

...

Wild


	11. Chapter 11

11\. A Model Copper ( _and a very long chapter_ )

Bill stood at the top of the broad steps, shuffled his feet and looked out morosely over the intersection of Swanston and Flinders Street. The musical cries of the newsboys rang out with a 'Heeearaald! Herald Final Extreea! Gettcha Heraaaald Fiiiiinal Extra!' He watched with interest as 'The Rock', that notoriously incorruptible Sargent, directed traffic through the intersection with a whistle and ballet-like motions with his hands. The man was a legend amongst coppers near and far; it was said he had never taken a bribe in his entire career nor pandered to whims of politicians or superintendents, which was why he had never been promoted past point duty. But that man 'owned' that intersection and neither pedestrian nor wheeled vehicle ever ignored his whistle or an instruction from his white gloved hands. Bill gave a sigh of admiration at the nobility of the man and envied him his simple dedication to a mundane task. Shuffling his feet once more Bill turned his attention to the City Hatters shop window and considered the offerings there. Should he invest in a new trilby? Or perhaps a fedora like Blakes'? Would Anne even notice if he did buy a new hat?

Bill sighed again. Digging into his jacket pocket he pulled out the yellow telegram and read the message for what must have been the hundredth time:

'Under the Clocks. 3.30 Tuesday. Important. Anne.'

Anne had been in the City for the past month teaching a summer workshop at The Victorian Artist Society – "The Vics". She was staying with a friend in Carlton and the last time Bill had called her she had seemed distant and preoccupied. Then, out of the blue, this telegram had arrived on his desk last Thursday. He had tried to call her, but the phone line was dead. He attempted to reach her through the Society, but they had refused to interrupt her classes and only promised to pass a message on. But Bill had not had any response, so he took a few day's annual leave and here he was, Tuesday at 3.25, waiting with his valise. Under the Clocks at Flinders Street Station.

'Bill? Bill Hobart?' a light baritone called out from the bottom of the steps. Bill turned and looked down at a dapper, handsome young man staring up at him, squinting into the sunshine. 'Bill Hobart?' he repeated.

Bill frowned, who was this man? How did he know Anne and where was she? He slowly descended the stairs and approached the stranger. The man watched Bill approach, a tentative smile on his face. He stuck his hand forward and Bill grasped it in a strong handshake.

'I'm Geoff. Geoff Grant,' said the young man. 'Anne sent me to meet you. She says to say sorry she couldn't be here but I'm to explain.'

Bill scowled, a surge of jealousy flaring. 'How do you know Anne, where is she?'

'Oh! Sorry. I'm Janes husband. Jane Grant? Anne's been staying with us. She said you knew?' Grant responded anxiously. Bill was formidable when he scowled.

Bill relaxed a bit, releasing Geoff from the handshake. 'Yes, yes of course, is Anne alright? Where is she?'

Geoff smiled. 'Anne's fine really, but she's had a bit of trouble in the class. They called her into a special meeting after class otherwise she would be here. I've got nothing on the easel today and she asked me to see to you and bring you back to Carlton to wait for her. What say we go have a beer at Y & J's first and I'll tell you what I know?'

Bill licked his lips. A cold one would go down right well after the train journey. He nodded his head to Geoff.

'Right? Come on, mate, it's just over the road', Geoff steered Bill to the intersection and they joined the crowd of pedestrians waiting to cross the busy street. The light changed to green and The Rock waved the crowd forward. As Bill and Geoff crossed the intersection, The Rock looked Bill in the eye and gave him a slight nod. Bill nodded back.

'You _know_ him?' hissed Geoff in amazement as they reached the other side.

'No, not really,' responded Bill, 'I guess he just recognised another cop, that's all. Coppers get a sixth sense about that after a time.' Bill was secretly delighted to have been noticed.

Geoff was impressed.

….

It was cool and dark inside the Young and Jackson's saloon bar. The popular watering hole was busy, but not crowded. Once the office workers came off shift it would be packed with men trying to sink a couple of pots before their train or before time was called. Now in mid-afternoon it was a welcome oasis from the noise and dust of the city outside. Geoff and Bill leaned on the bar and contemplated the Queen of the Bar Room Wall. Geoff lifted his glass in silent toast to the nude painting and remarked, 'She's a daisy, ain't she Bill?'

Bill gazed in awe at the painting of Chloe by Lefebvre and agreed. 'Blake was rabbiting on about what a masterpiece she is, but this is the first time I've clocked her. She's not a bad sort. Not at all.' And he downed a mouthful of beer with that pronouncement.

Geoff chuckled at Bill's understatement. 'We'll make an art critic out of you yet, Bill! Anne's told me you have a distinctly singular taste in art.'

'I like her stuff well enough,' mumbled Bill, a bit embarrassed.

'Yes, she's one talented lady,' mused Geoff. 'Which is why she doesn't need this sort of drama that's happening.'

Bill scowled at Geoff again. 'What drama? You mentioned trouble in the class, what's going on?'

'Thefts. She can tell you about it tonight. Nothing much valuable, except to an artist, but brushes are expensive, paints cost a pretty penny too. Things going missing in her class. It's been upsetting for her. And the Vic's is an important society, she can't afford to have her reputation tarnished with them, even if it isn't her fault.'

Bill looked askance at Geoff. 'What can I do? I'm a Ballarat copper, I don't know much of anything about how Art Society's run or classes or the like.'

'Bill, I think she just needs you here. Talk to her tonight, find out what's going on. You'll be staying at my place, right?'

Bill was nonplussed. He hadn't considered staying at the Grant's place, he expected to kip at the 'Y' if he needed to stay the night. 'Uh, thanks Geoff. But I don't want to put you out…'

'Phut. No trouble at all! We have artists' staying over all the time. Anne's already got the spare room…' Geoff gave Bill a bit of a side-eye considering; but seeing Bill's ear's starting to turn red and blush he continued on, 'But we have a day-bed in my studio that you can use. Smells a bit like turps in there, but I'm sure you'll cope.'

'You're an artist too?' Bill thought he should know a bit about his kindly host.

'Well, I work at it. Nowhere near as good or talented as Anne. But I make a reasonably good living as an illustrator for advertising, magazine covers and ads, billboards and the like.' Geoff modestly replied.

'Like Norman Rockwell?' Bill was impressed.

'Hah! I wish!' scoffed Geoff. 'But never say die I say. As long as there is bread on the table and beer in the fridge I'm happy.' Geoff glanced at his wristwatch. 'Say, drink up mate. We need to hop a tram and get home before Jane and Anne get back!'

….

Bill enjoyed the tram ride up Swanston street. A country boy at heart he still enjoyed the sights and sounds of the 'big smoke'. They got off at Elgin street and walked a short distance turning into a side street lined with dilapidated Victorian terrace houses. The houses were in a sad shape, missing pieces of decorative iron lacework, sagging verandas, broken or boarded up windows and peeling paint. Mangy cats prowled the area. Scruffy children with solemn eyes watched the men walk up the street. Geoff lead Bill up the front veranda steps of number 16 and inserted a key into the front door. Swinging the door open with a flourish Geoff beckoned Bill inside with a 'Tah Dah!'

Bill stepped inside the dingy hallway and looked about. It smelled of dust, turpentine and faintly of cabbage.

'Tain't much, but it's home. Well, for the time being anyway. This entire block is slated for demolition. Part of the big slum clearance act. But until then, the rent is cheap, and the location is great.' Commented Geoff as he led Bill down the hallway to the kitchen in the back.

'That's my studio, drop your gear in there,' gestured Geoff as they walked past the first room. Bill peered inside the doorway to see a large, high ceiling room cluttered with easels, boxes and all types of paint paraphernalia. In the corner was a large day bed that Bill assumed was where he would sleep, and he dropped his valise onto it.

'This is the guest room, Anne's in here,' Geoff pointed to the closed door next down the hall.

At the end of the hall was a staircase that travelled up and back to a landing at the front of the house. 'Our room is upstairs,' mentioned Geoff. The hallway opened into a large kitchen area that housed a laminated dining table with 6 plastic chairs, an overstuffed couch and a small black and white television set in the corner.

'We use the kitchen as our living room mostly. The second bedroom upstairs is unliveable, horrendous mould, so the front room down here became my studio. The bath and toilet are out the back if you need them. The phone's dead though, they cut us off last month. Care for a cuppa?' Geoff waved a kettle about enticingly. Bill nodded.

The kettle was just beginning to sing on the kitchen range when the front door opened, and a female's voice sang out down the hall, 'Geoff! Are you home!'

'In the kitchen, love!' Geoff called back. Bill watched as an attractive, short, plump woman with twinkling eyes and a merry smile bounced into the room. She came around to Geoff and embraced him enthusiastically. He bent down and kissed the woman with gusto. Coming up for air, he grinned and turned to Bill and introduced his wife, 'Bill, this is me missus, Jane. Jane, this is Bill. That copper what Anne keeps talking about down from Ballarat.'

Jane looked Bill up and down considering, decided she liked what she saw and gave him a big smile. 'Welcome Bill! Pleased ta' meetcha' at last. Heard a lot about youse! Anne's just behind me, she stopped at the shops ta pick up some things fer tea.' As she said this they heard the front door open and footsteps coming down the hall.

Bill stood up nervously. He felt awkward and unsure in this situation. Then, his Anne, stood at the kitchen doorway with a bag of groceries in her arms. She saw him standing there and gave him a smile meant for him and him alone. His heart sung, and he grinned back at her somewhat foolishly. 'Hey Anne. I've come.'

Anne put her bag on the kitchen table, strode across the kitchen floor and took both of Bill's hands in hers. She leaned forward and gave his lips a swift kiss. 'Thank you, Bill. I am so glad you came.' Bill's ears turned pink with pleasure.

'Right then,' announce Jane. 'That's sorted! What's for tea Anne?'

Anne laughed. 'How does a spag bol sound tonight?' She asked Jane but looked at Bill.

'Bewdy!' replied Jane. And Bill smiled his approval as well.

…..

It was all very different and unusual for Bill. The bohemian lifestyle of the Grant's was something Bill had never experienced before, but it was welcoming and friendly and he enjoyed every moment of the evening. He helped chop vegetables for Jane, washed out the old jam jars to be used as wine glasses, laid down a bit of yesterday's newspaper on the table as a tablecloth. The spaghetti was dished up out of the pot into second-hand cracked bowls from the op-shop and the rich sauce was ladled on top. The irrepressible Jane grated parmesan cheese everywhere. Geoff poured their 'glasses' full to the brim with a rough red wine he had bought from the local Italian greengrocer who made it on the sly. After eating their fill, they shared a block of Cadbury's Dairy Milk for desert and Geoff and Bill were ordered to do the washing up.

'We ladies did all the hard work feeding youse lazy blokes, now you do your part!' Jane declared. The men happily complied.

Meal eaten, dishes washed dried and put away, (Bill had noticed that for all its run-down state, Jane kept a spotlessly clean kitchen) they took their jam jars full of wine and settled down on the couch. Bill sat quite close to Anne, their knees touching. Jane took the far end of the couch and Greg sat in one of the kitchen chairs.

'Right,' announced Geoff. 'Anne, you need to talk to Bill here and tell him what's up.'

'Anne?' asked Bill looked at her with concern.

Anne looked at Bill a little fearfully. 'I need your help Bill. I need to ask you to do something for me, and well, you might find it a bit embarrassing.'

'Anne, you know I'd do anything for you, short of murder!' declared Bill. 'But tell me first, what is this all about?'

Anne sighed. 'You know how excited I was to be offered a workshop at the Victorian Artist's Society?'

Bill nodded. 'Yeah, you told me only the best was ever asked. And that Tom Robert's had worked and taught there, and it was a real honour to follow in his footsteps.'

'And it is too! Almost every famous Australian artist since the early days had their start there – you're another one Anne!' Declared Jane from her corner of the couch.

'Yes, its' pretty special,' agreed Anne. 'But you know, some people don't really like the idea of a woman artist. Much less one that 'presumes' to teach. As if a woman could never know as much as a man!' Anne was indigent.

'Some people are just plain ignorant. How can anyone look at your work and not think you are as good as, no, even _better_ than most male artists? And I say that as a male artist!' Geoff stoutly supported Anne.

'Thanks Geoff, but Bill, there are people who have been making trouble. I don't know who, one of the men in the class maybe. But someone has been pilfering from my students. Expensive camel hair brushes and tubes of paints have gone missing. Bags have been rifled and money stolen. And worse of all, turps was thrown over a nearly completed work, totally ruining it! Complaints have been made to the Board saying I shouldn't be teaching if I can't control the class!' Anne was on the verge of tears. 'It's difficult enough being accepted as a woman artist, but when this goes on it is just soul destroying! They told me in the meeting tonight that if I didn't sort it out they wouldn't be able to ask me back to teach ever again!'

Bill put his arm around Anne and drew her close. She buried her face in his shoulder. 'No one has seen anything? You haven't suspected anyone in the class?' He felt her shake her head no.

'Tell me, love. Tell me what I can do. What on earth can I do to help?' Bill pleaded.

Anne looked up at him. 'I need you in the class Bill. I need you to watch. I can't watch and teach at the same time. I need you to try and work out who is doing this. I need your copper's eyes and instinct.'

'But Anne, love, I'm not an artist, I haven't the faintest idea about it. I couldn't sit there at an easel and pretend to paint!' protested Bill.

Anne hesitated slightly. 'Not as a student Bill. I need you as an artist's model.'

Bill drew back, stunned. 'Whaaa…? You want me to parade around in my birthday suit? Like that lady hanging in the bar?'

Jane giggled, and Geoff smirked slightly. 'No! No Bill!' protested Anne. 'Not a _life_ model, a portrait model!

'Well, I guess that is better,' said Bill somewhat mollified. 'But I'm no Cary Grant, Anne. And I'm not too sure I'd like people staring at me like that. Why on earth would you want to paint my portrait?'

'He really doesn't know, does he?' chuckled Geoff. 'You mate, are possibly one of the best faces I have seen in a long time. Cary Grant is a wuss. You're not bad looking, but best of all your face has character!'

'And the money's real good too,' put in Jane. 'Not as good as 'life', mind you. But easy cash for sitting on your tosh all day doing nuthin'. That's how I met Anne and Geoff ya' know? I were their life model!' Jane struck a pose on the couch, flinging her hand above her head and thrusting out her hips.

'And an irresistible morsel you were, too!' Grinned Geoff at her.

Jane batted her eyelashes back at him with a 'G'won!'

Bill looked askance at the three staring back at him hopefully.

'Please Bill, please. All you need to do is sit still. Sit and watch,' pleaded Anne.

Bill slowly nodded his head in agreement, wondering exactly what the heck he was letting himself in for.

…

Later that night, as he sat on the day bed in Geoff's studio he was still wondering, when there was a soft knock at the door.

'Come in,' he responded. And Anne opened the door and stepped inside carrying a bundle of sheets, blankets and a pillow in her arms.

'I've just brought some bedding for you. That old day bed is pretty lumpy, but I'll try and make it as comfortable for you as possible.'

Bill stood up, 'Let me help,' he offered. Between them the proceeded to make the bed up. Neither spoke a word and there was an uncomfortable tension in the air. Bill wondered if he and Anne would ever share a bed, and Anne was wondering if Bill would ever ask. When they had finished, they both stood there staring at each other awkwardly.

It was Anne who spoke first, breaking the tension. 'I'm sorry Bill. I think I owe you an apology.'

Bill looked at her and started to speak, 'No, Anne…'

'Yes,' broke in Anne. 'Yes, I do. I deliberately didn't answer your calls! I couldn't ask you over the phone to do this. But I knew you would never refuse if I asked you in person. I mislead you and now I have forced you into something that you would never, ever consider doing if I hadn't coerced you into it!'

'Anne!' protested Bill. 'Please, sit.' He sat on the end of the bed and patted the space next to him encouragingly. 'Listen to me, please.'

Anne slowly came over and sat down next to Bill. He reached over and took her hand. 'Anne, I know I'm not easy to talk to sometimes.' He sighed. 'I get awkward and nervous. And I close-up. People think I'm angry all the time, I know, they get frightened of me. But Anne, not you too, please. Please don't be frightened of me. You can talk to me about _anything_ , anytime.

Anne looked at Bill with compassion and reached her hand up to stroke his face. 'You, dear, sweet man. I have never been frightened of you Bill. You're a bit rough and ready sometimes,' she chuckled, 'but you are my darling bulldog Bill.'

Bill's heart caught with joy, and he reached up and put his hand over hers and leaned in and kissed her deeply. Anne smiled against his lips, and gently pulled away. She continued to stroke his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of his 5 o'clock shadow.

'You know, you are going to be a wonderful portrait model.' Anne looked at his face critically. She ran her hand over his strong jaw, admired his large nose with its slight cleft at the tip and gazed into his beautiful blue-grey eyes.

Bill smiled unsurely back at her. 'But Anne, I don't know what the heck I'm supposed to do!'

Anne chuckled again. 'Well, you sit on a large comfortable chair on a podium for 20 minutes without moving. You stare at a spot on the wall. And 10 aspiring artists look at you and try to capture your essence on a piece of paper or canvas. Then you have a 10-minute break. After a cup of tea, you return to the same spot and do it all over again. And you earn 2 pounds an hour doing it!'

'2 pound an hour! You're kidding!' exclaimed Bill.

'Yes, its' good money. Lots of art students do it to support themselves. But its' not regular work. That's partly why the Grant's struggle so much. Geoff doesn't get nearly enough advertising work and Jane only models a couple of times a week, if that.' Anne arose from the bed. 'Bill, I'd best be off to sleep.'

Bill hung onto her hand, reluctant to let her leave. He looked up at her with hungry eyes. 'Anne…' he hesitated. 'Stay.'

She looked down at him, leaned over and kissed his forehead. 'I'm tired Bill and we have an early morning start.' Bill swallowed his disappointment, but hope flared as she continued, 'This…this is too important and special to me for this place' and she gestured to the grungy studio '…when I'm home in Ballarat again…' she smiled her promise and left the room.

…..

The next morning Bill and Anne stood on the opposite side of the street facing the Society building. The grand St. Patrick's cathedral stood at their backs, and the merry ding of tram bells sounded from Exhibition street. Bill looked at the wonderful Romanesque façade of the building in front of him.

'Looks pretty amazing, Anne!' he commented.

'Wait until you see inside!' Anne grabbed his hand and heedless of traffic they dodged across the road. They mounted the 6 broad bluestone steps in front of the building and she pushed open the large glass door. Stepping inside to the foyer area Bill stopped and gaped at the beautiful Victorian style decor. Windows featured hand coloured lead lighting panels. The foyer had a high ceiling decorated with an explosion of gilded mouldings of fruits and flowers. Large white painted gallery rooms fed off to the right and left. In front of him rose a magnificent double width staircase with mahogany hand rails that gave access to the major gallery spaces upstairs. The entire area was lit by a sparkling chandelier dripping with crystals.

'Pretty special place, eh, Bill?' asked Anne. Bill nodded in agreement and looked around admiringly.

'Morning Anne,' said the young woman coming out of one of the offices behind the front desk on the left side of the foyer.

'Good morning Chris!' responded Anne. 'How are you? Oh, this is Bill, he is going to be our portrait model today.' Anne gently propelled Bill towards the desk.

Chris greeted Bill with a smile and gave him a 'how do?' Then turning back to Anne, she grinned and said 'A male model Anne? That's going to be a challenge for some of those blokes!'

'Good!' Anne declared with a toss of her head. 'They need a bit of stirring up, that lot of stick-in-the-muds.'

'You don't think you are sticking your neck out a bit, I mean, considering….?' Asked Chris.

'May as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb!' stated Anne stoutly. 'Anyway, I'll let you know how we go. I need to get Bill settled.' Anne put her arm through Bill's and lead him across the foyer and around the staircase.

'The studio is behind the staircase, and here, through the kitchen, at the side door,' Pulling out a key from her handbag, Anne unlocked the studio door, stepped inside and turned on the lights.

Bill entered a large room, fully the width of the building, half as wide as it was long. The floor was plain wooden boards spattered with multicolour dots of years of spilled paint. Shelves around the long ends of the room were crammed with a clutter of props; brass plates, crystal bowls, jars, vases filled with paper flowers, plaster busts of Roman heads, a human skull, a half-sized medical skeleton, a broken fiddle, an old drum, and even a dull and blunt old cavalry sword. The racks and slots along one wall was filled with drying oil paintings. Slabs of clay were resting under damp cloths. Prints and posters of famous artworks were thumb tacked to the walls in every available space. Large heavy easels stood in a semi-circle in front of a low podium on which stood a wicker work planters chair. Behind the podium was a curtain of heavy dark green velvet. The room smelled heavily of dust, charcoal, oil paint and turps.

'Here is your change room Bill. You can leave your jacket here.' Anne lead him to a small curtained off area in the far corner of the long room. Bill followed her into the little alcove, took his jacket off and neatly folded it over the chair left there.

'And maybe take your tie off?' suggested Anne with a cock of her head. Bill did so.

'And...' Anne reached up and undid the top button of his shirt, 'maybe a little more casual look?'

Bill looked down at Anne, then reached up and undid a second button. 'Like this?' he grinned at her.

She smiled back at him, delighted that he seemed to be getting into the spirit of things. 'Perfect!'

From the other side of the curtain they heard the scuffling sounds of people arriving for class. Bill nodded to Anne, and they both moved back into the main section of the studio. A mixed group of students were arriving and beginning to set up at each easel. Bill counted 7 men and 3 women in the group. Anne lead Bill up to the podium, placed a red cushion on the seat of the planter's chair and gestured for him to be seated. Turning, she faced the group of students and waited while they settled down. Then, with a sharp clap of her hands, she brought them all to her attention and began to speak,

'Good morning all! Good to see you all back. As you are aware, all this week we have been working on the human form, primarily full body life work. I'd like you all to meet Bill, he is our model for todays' sessions,' Anne gestured to Bill behind her and he gave the class a brief nod, 'Today you are all going to try your hand at a bit of portraiture work…' There was an audible groan from a weedy young man on the left.

'Yes Paul? You have a problem with this?' asked Anne sternly.

'I thought we were doing nudes all week, female nudes. Not portraits of some old bloke,' whined Paul.

'Really Paul, I am surprised at you! Portraiture is one of the main disciplines in art, of the human form. Every artist should learn to be competent in producing a basic likeness of a head. Not everything revolves around the naked female.' Anne sniffed.

Paul just sneered and mumbled under his breath.

Anne resumed, 'You will begin today with a charcoal study on paper of Bill. We will have 2x 20-minute poses for you to familiarise yourself with his features. Then you will begin your oil study on canvas based on your observations. You will have another 2 x 20-minute poses and then we will break for lunch. After lunch you will resume and hopefully complete a full oil study by the end of the day. Right? Any questions? No? Please set up while I get Bill settled and we can commence.'

Anne turned to Bill and out of sight of the class she rolled her eyes at him. Mounting the podium, she gently positioned his arms, so the elbows were resting comfortably on the arm rests and his hands were crossed over his lap. She placed her hand under his chin and lifted and turned his head slightly. 'Now Bill,' she said softly so the class could not hear, 'find a spot on the wall and look at it. Got it?' Bill grunted. 'That is your spot. Look at that spot, remember it, watch it and try to move as little as possible. I'll set the timer for 20 minutes, when it rings don't move until I say, alright?' he grunted again. 'Right Bill,' she gently smoothed a wayward hair back into position. 'Thank you,' she breathed into his ear. Then standing erect again she turned to the class, grabbed the kitchen timer left on the podium, set it for 20 minutes and announced, 'Class! Begin!'

…

Bill's first 20-minute sitting was one of the most difficult things he had ever attempted in his life. After the first 5 minutes his nose began to itch, and he wanted to scratch, but couldn't move. Then into the 10-minute mark his tummy rumbled. Audibly. One of the female artists giggled at the sound and he found it hard to hold in his smile. At the 15-minute mark that spot on the wall began to blur and lose focus. His eyes watered and he had to blink several times much to the disgust of the whiney Paul. Bill began to think that this was the longest 20 minutes of his life and it would never end when the timer buzzed making him jump slightly. 'Who would have thought it was so hard to just sit?' he thought to himself. He was just about to move, when he remembered Anne said to stay still. He rolled his eyes over to where she was helping a student and caught her glance.

'Just a sec Bill… hold it… right, you see Kevin, see how the line of his nose angles just slightly?' She made a quick mark on Kevin's paper and the man nodded. Anne dusted her hands and came over to Bill with a piece of white chalk in her hand. 'I'm just going to mark your spot Bill, then you can get up and stretch. You did great!' she leaned forward and outlined the position of his feet on the floor, the line where his arms rested, and the edges of his head on the back of the chair. 'There, now you can get up and move about for 10 minutes or so. You can grab a biscuit and cup of tea from the kitchen if you like. And have a look at what everyone has done, why don't you?'

Bill stood up and stretched, his back cracking. He ambled off the podium and wandered out to the kitchen, casting quick glances at the drawings as he went. He found the biscuit barrel and grabbed a couple of butternut snaps to stop his stomach making noises but ignored the tea for the time being. He didn't want to be caught short in the middle of the next pose! He wandered back into the studio and looked at a few of the charcoal drawings. It was a very odd experience seeing his face reflected to him. Some of the drawings were better than others, but, he considered, they were only the first attempts. He was standing in front of one work that seemed to portray him as a dark and moody figure.

'Like it?' said a male voice next to him. Bill turned to see a tall, young man with and earnest expression standing next to him.

Bill assumed it was the artist and didn't want to offend, so he replied, 'Yes. I think so, the likeness is good. But you have made me seem so grim. Do I really look that grim to you?'

The young man smiled wanly. 'Well, not really. But that is exactly what I was trying to show. A deep and underlying sadness. Don't worry, its' just a drawing, probably more about me than you.'

Bill was uncomfortable. He knew he was grim looking, but sad? Just then the timer dinged announcing the end of the break. He walked back to the podium and carefully sat down again, aligning his feet and arms to the chalk markings. Anne came over and adjusted his head angle and he focused once more on the spot. She set the timer and the next pose began.

…

Now that he knew what to expect, Bill was able to relax and settle into the pose. In a way, he mused, it wasn't much different than being on a stake-out. Except on a stake-out he could scratch his nose. But now he began to observe the room and its' occupants more closely. He discovered that he could see quite a lot in his peripheral vision. As well, he found he could shoot the occasional darting glance around the room and no one seemed to mind. The students were focused on getting the proportions and shape of his face correct, they were concentrating on him as an object and their attention was entirely analytical, he was a subject, not a person.

As he watched them all over the morning sessions and he began to form opinions of the characters around him. There were the two 'arty' type men, dressed in black with beatnik beards. They were trying to make a 'statement' with their art, not portray his character. When he had looked at their drawings he didn't understand what he saw, the drawings looked like nothing human. The sad man was just that, sad. He seemed to take no joy in his art at all. At the next break Bill found out his name was Peter and it was his brushes that had been stolen. There was an intelligent looking girl who peered at him near sightedly and drew with earnest attention. The giggling girl seemed to giggle at everything, when she dropped her charcoal, when she sneezed from the dust, at Anne's comments. A bit silly, that one, thought Bill. There was whiney Paul who never listened to a word Anne said and did whatever he wanted then complained when it didn't work. And a quiet girl who plodded on and never asked questions. Her name was Mary and it was her handbag that hand been opened, and 2 pounds stolen from it. Mary sat next to Kevin, who was a solicitor and only doing the class for a summer holiday. Then there was a short, round man with a ridiculous moustache, but he was a dab hand with paint and his work was exquisite. His name was Carlos and it was his painting that had been destroyed with turpentine. Finally, there was a mouse of a man called Rupert, who said little and painted with a desperate fury. His colours were wild and bizarre and somehow worked. He was working with all new colours today as his original set had been stolen.

They all looked at Bill with dispassionate eyes as they painted and drew his portrait, not realising that he was sizing them up and judging each of them in turn.

Sitting there and silently watching them all, Bill also began to realise what an excellent teacher Anne was. She encouraged and suggested when needed. She listened and didn't judge but worked with each artist to help them achieve their vision. Frankly Bill didn't understand how anyone had the patience to work with some of them. But she treated each artist with respect and critiqued their work fairly and without malice.

As the morning wore on, Bill had begun to develop a deep and personal relationship with that spot on the wall. His back began to ache. So, when the timer rang on the last session and Anne told everyone to break for lunch he gave a sigh of relief. The students dispersed for lunch to return at 1.30 for the final 3 sessions of the day. Bill stood up and stretched, easing his stiffening back.

Anne looked over at him and asked, 'You okay Bill?'

'Ohhhh, bit stiff!' he moaned.

'Yes, it's actually hard work, posing like that. Most people don't realise.' She commented. 'Do you think you will last the afternoon?'

'No fear,' replied Bill. 'Not much worse than sitting all night in a divvy van on a stake-out! But I could do with a walk to stretch my legs.'

'Yes, I've brought our lunch. We can go eat in the grounds of St. Pat's across the road and maybe have a walk around the block. Just let me get my things.' And she bustled about collecting the bag containing their cut lunch while Bill went and put his jacket and tie back on. They left the studio together, Anne closing and locking the door securely behind them.

'You always lock up for lunch?' asked Bill

Anne looked guilty. 'No, I didn't at first. But we came back last Monday after lunch to find Carlos' painting had been destroyed. I've locked it every day since, but that hasn't stopped the thefts.'

'Were things stolen at lunch-time?'

'Not too sure, people didn't notice that the items were missing until later in the afternoon or even the next day. So, I don't know when they were taken, the room has been locked ever since then.' Anne said.

They strolled out of the building, Anne telling Chris on the desk that they were just going out for lunch for a ½ hour or so. When they had left the building he asked Anne, 'Is Chris there all lunch-time? Does she watch who comes and goes?'

'Well she tries,' replied Anne. 'But she is the only one rostered on in the summer, so if she gets a phone call in the other office she must take it, so anyone could come in or out. It's her job on the line too, the Board said!'

'Hardly seems fair.' Commented Bill as they crossed the busy road and entered the gardens of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

'No.' Agreed Anne. They found a free bench under a lilac bush and Anne handed Bill a packet of wax wrapped sandwiches. 'Cheese and pickle okay with you?' she asked.

'Perfect.' Said Bill happily, his stomach rumbling again in anticipation. He unwrapped his sandwich and began to eat. From their seat on the bench they could see the front of the Society building. As he watched and chewed he thought about all the students in the class he had met and how they had reacted to Anne as their teacher.

As if reading his thoughts Anne asked, 'What do you think of the them all?'

'Those two beatnik types don't seem to listen to what you say much.' He remarked.

Anne just laughed. 'Oh! Those two. They are both perfectly capable artists and can draw beautifully when they want to. They are just experimenting around with some new abstract ideas. I don't think they really know what they are doing. They'll figure it out eventually.'

'Hmmm,' mused Bill. 'And that girl? Does she ever stop giggling? Is it an act?'

'Sally?' replied Anne, 'She could do so well, she has real talent, but she just flits about and doesn't take anything seriously. Pity, if she would just settle down… but no, I can't see her having the strength of character to commit such malicious acts.'

'What about that Peter? Is he just depressed, or what?'

Anne looked a bit concerned. 'I'm not sure what the story is there. I heard a rumour that he had lost a family member recently, but I don't know. He doesn't seem to be enjoying class much, but he does such wonderful work! He couldn't be our suspect, remember, he was a victim!'

'Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone did something like that to throw the suspicion off from themselves. But no, I agree with you Anne.' Bill hesitated, the ploughed ahead. 'Anne, there is really only one person in that class I can see who's an issue, and that is Paul.'

'Oh Bill, no! He's disrespectful true, but his father is on the Board! I can't accuse him!' protested Anne.

Bill paused, he was watching the front of the Society building with interest. 'Really, Anne? Look over there, who is that?'

Anne looked across the road where to her surprize she saw Paul creeping up the front steps of the building then peering cautiously through the glass front door. Looking once over his shoulder, he slipped into the building.

Bill grabbed Anne's hand and rising he pulled her up quickly from the bench. Holding tight to her hand, he moved rapidly through the garden. Dodging traffic again, they raced across the road and ran up the steps. Entering the building, they noticed that Chris was not at the desk and they heard her talking on the phone in the inner office. Bill motioned Anne to be quiet, and they crept silently past the unoccupied front desk and down around the staircase. Pausing at the kitchen door, Bill peered around the corner to see the studio door wide open. With a hand gesture he indicated Anne should wait, and he moved quietly and rapidly into the room.

Bending over Peter's gear, Paul was sorting through brushes and paints, picking and choosing what he wanted.

'Miss something last time, did you?' asked Bill quietly.

Paul spin around in shock, dropping the paints and brushes he had been holding. 'Whaaa? What are you doing creeping up on me? HOW DARE YOU!' he shrieked.

'Paul!' Anne's shocked voice came from the doorway. 'What are you doing?'

'You! It's your fault! You shouldn't be here…Women artists!' he sneered at Anne in disgust.

'Anne,' said Bill, 'go tell Chris to ring the police.' Anne darted off to the phone.

Paul looked around in panic for a way out, there was only the one entrance to the studio. He made a desperate bolt for the door hoping to slip by Bill. But Bill had been a cop too many years to let that get past him. He reached out and grabbed Paul by the collar as Paul tried to rush by. Holding on tight he gave the man a bit of a shake and lifted him by the collar until Paul was forced to stand on his toes to stay upright.

'Let go of me! You animal! My father is on the Board! He won't let you get away with treating me like this!' Paul squirmed in Bill's grasp.

'Shaddup. You little worm.' Bill gave him another shake. 'You're lucky I don't thump you one. Make you see in primary colours that would.'

…

The police arrived shortly and took Paul into custody charging him with theft and malicious mischief. Bill gave his statement, and the police searched Paul's bag and found items that were identified as belonging to Peter and Rupert. They also found a duplicate key to the studio in his pocket that he had apparently 'borrowed' from his father. Pauls' father was contacted and because of his son's actions he promptly tended his resignation from the Society and the Board.

The afternoon's class resumed eventually, but they only were able to fit in another 2 sessions that day. It took the other students some time to calm down but several managed to complete some quite respectable studies of Bill. Even he was impressed with what they created.

Later that night at the Grant's place Bill and Anne told the story to an astonished Geoff and Jane.

'The President of the Committee actually came down and apologised to me and Chris!' exclaimed Anne. 'And they offered me another workshop next school holidays!'

'But why did Paul do it? What was he thinking?' asked Geoff.

'Seems that young Paul has a grudge against women artists – he lost out on a major prize last year coming second to a woman. He enjoyed causing the women the class distress by his petty thefts. And he was petty and jealous of anyone showing more talent than he had. So, he destroyed Carlos' work and stole from Peter, so he couldn't paint.' Bill had spoken with the police before they took Paul away.

'What a tosser.' Declared Jane.

'Yes' agreed Bill. 'And Geoff, this is for you and Jane,' Bill handed over the 10 pounds note he had earned for the days' modelling.

'No Bill!' protested Geoff. 'We can't accept that!'

'I'm not allowed to earn any income while on leave, so I'm donating this in support of the Arts.' And he placed the note on the table and put the sugar bowl on top of it.

'Well, if you put it that way,' said Geoff considering, 'we accept. The rents due next week.' He and Jane both grinned at Bill.

'Sooo, Bill?' asked Jane 'Whaddya think of your first-time modelling?'

Bill looked at Jane soberly. 'Don't think I'll give up my day job just yet.' Then he grinned and they all laughed with him.

'But you know Bill,' said Anne. 'I think I'd like to enter the Archibald next year. I'll need someone to sit for me…'

'Can I take my clothes off for you?' asked Bill wickedly.

Anne blushed, and the others laughed.

…

 _This story touches on a lot of places and memories of my city of Melbourne I remember from early 70's. The Herald newsboys are no more, neither is the Herald evening paper. But the City Hatter's is still there as well as Young and Jacksons and the beautiful Chloe. People meet 'under the clocks' even today and brave police do point duty on Flinders and Swanston Street intersection. Large swathes of workers cottages and Victorian terraces were demolished in Carlton the late 60's and early 70's and replaced with ugly tower blocks. The 'Vic's' is still a vibrant society of talented artists. If you are interested learning more about the Victorian Artists Society of Victoria visit their website: .au/_

 _Wild_

…


	12. Chapter 12

( _This is for NancyMay_ )

Meet the Pats

The morning sky was a deep ice blue and there was just a hint of crispness in the air. The currawongs, butcherbirds and magpies were creating a choral cacophony of bell-like song. Bill's face was set in his grim 'Sergeants' face, but inside he was smiling joyously. Yes, Autumn was certainly his favourite time of the year he thought as he lifted his face and inhaled the morning air deeply. If he could have gotten away with it he would have danced a happy little jig, but as always, he maintained a stoic, granite look. Wouldn't do to let anyone suspect his secret joy.

A week walking the beat! He was being 'disciplined'. Bill grinned secretly to himself. It took a fine art to mess up just the right amount. Don't get too much out of line so as to avoid a written report on his record, but just enough to earn a week of leisurely strolling about the Bathurst laneways enjoying the beautiful Autumn weather. Just as all the trees were changing colour and the weather was still fine but not too hot and not too cold. And the bonus was that 'Johnno' Johnson really did deserve that bit of a slap for the way he had treated his wife. Johnno would certainly think twice next time he was on the sauce! Two birds.

Although Bill suspected that Senior Inspector Matthew Lawson wasn't really fooled. Lawson had glared at him when handing down the punishment saying, 'A week's sabbatical for you Bill. Honestly, next year just ASK to be put on the Beat for a week!'

Ah well, maybe next year he would do that. But it wouldn't do to let them all think he ENJOYED walking the Beat – he would end up being rostered on to it permanently. At his age his feet and hips really couldn't take too much of that anymore, but no one needed to know that. No, one week in Autumn was just perfect. Almost a holiday.

His Beat took around the lake, patrolling the various 'sleep out' areas, rousing the drunks and moving them on. Then over the road and a circuit of the footy oval, checking if any of the local larrikins had left their mark. Stroll down Sturt Street past the Clarendon College to the sounds of young boys droning their times tables. He paused briefly to enjoy the wine-red colours of the old Liquid Amber tree on the corner. It was filled with screeching corellas that were stripping the tree its' seed balls and making an unholy mess.

Then a turn right, down Pleasant Street. And it was, too. Very pleasant. A wide avenue of neat white weatherboard cottages shaded by oaks, elm and plane trees. All of which were now turning various shades of yellows, russets and golden browns and dropping leaves everywhere. Bill happily shuffled through a mass of leaves enjoying the crisp, crunchy sound under his feet.

Left into Eyre Street and he would be halfway through the circuit. He just turned into the street when he heard a screeching louder and shriller than the corellas.

'Don't you dare! Don't you bloody-well dare!' sounded the high-pitched whine of a woman.

'Put a match to that and your done for Dan MacIntosh!' another

'I'll bloody well do as I please, you silly cow!' roared back a man's voice 'You lot clear off and let me to my business!'

'Silly cow, am I, I'll 'silly-cow' you, you filthy bastard!' and there was the sound of a slap, then several women screaming and shrieking foul language and threats.

Just two houses down, standing in the gutter were four middle-aged women surround a short, balding man. The man, Bill presumed it was the aforesaid Dan MacIntosh, stood over a pile of leaves in the gutter and held a leaf rake in both hands like a quarterstaff fending off the women. A stout dark-haired woman had grasped the rake and was trying to wrestle it from Dan's grasp. A young girl of about 10 or so was dancing around the pack shouting, 'Mum! Mum! Go at 'im Mum!'

Bill picked up the pace, quickly moving to the scene with a shout of, 'Oye! What's all this about! Settle down you lot, disturbing the peace you are!'

The group sprang apart in guilty surprise and turned to Bill. The child darted behind the stout woman and hid.

'Officer!' spoke an angry Dan, 'Thank Bloody goodness. Tell these wimen to leave off!'

'You leave off, Dan MacIntosh!' snarled back the stout woman. Her cronies stepped in closer to her in support.

'You silly bugger Dan! You're in for it now!' cackled one of the ladies, a stringy blond in an apron. The women sneered at him.

'Right.' Declared Bill in his best copper voice. 'Enough. What is this all about?'

All the adults began speaking at once, shouting over each other. Bill couldn't really get the gist of what was the problem, but it had something to do with the leaves. Not being able to make sense of what was being said he held his hands up and roared. 'QUIET!'

The group stopped shouting in shock.

Bill pulled out his notebook and pencil. 'I'm Sergeant Hobart. Stop messing me about and let's get this sorted. Right, you,' he said pointing to the stout woman, 'your name!'

'I ain't done nothing wrong officer!' protested the woman

'You bloody well hit me woman!' sparked back Dan.

'Quiet!' Bill glared at Dan and Dan subsided. 'Your name!' he demanded once again. The woman gulped.

'Pat. Pat Stevens.' She replied. Bill wrote it down.

He turned to the next woman. 'You?'

The stringy blond looked fearful but replied, 'Patricia DeAngelo, but they calls me Pat, too.

'Right.' Said Bill and wrote down her name. He looked at the third woman, a short, dumpy potato faced specimen.

'Pat.' She declared.

'Are you having a lend?' asked Bill incredulously. He heard Dan snicker and he shot him a menacing glance. Dan settled.

The third Pat shook her head anxiously, 'No officer, really, it is Pat, Patty Franklin.'

Bill shook his head and wrote down her name. Turning to the final woman he cocked his head at her and asked, 'Pat too?'

'Humph. Of course not! I'm Helen. Helen Gustin!' she declared.

Bill wrote her name down in relief, turned to the man and asked, 'And you're Dan MacIntosh?' Dan nodded back at Bill in acknowledgement.

'Me! Me!' Don't forget me!' said the child dancing out from behind her mother.

Bill raised an eyebrow at her and asked, 'Your name darlin'?'

'PATSY! I'm Patsy Stevens!' and she hopped up and down on one foot in glee.

'Of course you are,' muttered Bill under his breath in defeat.

'Right. You, Pat…' he referred to his notes, 'Stevens. What in the blue blazes is all this ruckus about?'

'Him and 'is bloody leafs is what its about!' said Pat Stevens with passion.

'Leaves? What is wrong with his leaves?' Bill was confused.

'Every day 'e does it! Every single bloomin' day 'e is out here raking and raking then burnin' and burnin the damn leaves!' put in Pat DeAngelo complaining.

Bill looked down at the gutter, and sure enough he could see burn marks all up and down the curb in front of Dan's house.

'Smoke gets into everything. Everywhere. Makes the curtains stink. The walls gets all sooty. It's gotta' stop.' Put in Helen Gustin.

'Makes me cough somefin' fierce.' Said Patsy with a wheezy sniff.

'I gotta' RIGHT to do it!' spoke up Dan. The women all turned on him angrily.

'Not on bloody warshin' day!' shouted Pat Stevens into his face. The other three women positively growled at him. Dan jumped back in the face of the woman's collective anger.

'Officer, we can't get none of our warshing done and hung out.' Protested Patty Franklin. 'He burned every day this week, and if I don't get me sheets out soon I'll just despair!'

'Its' been perfect warshing and drying weather all week and we can't do it because of him!' moaned one of the Pat's, Bill had forgotten which one she was. 'I'm ever so behind!'

'Every day, Ladies? He burned off every day?' confirmed Bill. The women all nodded back at him.

'You say Pat Stevens hit you, Dan?' asked Bill.

'Um, yes, well, not really.' Dan was a bit shamefaced. 'She sorta' just slapped the matches outa' me hands.' He indicated the box of strewn matches on the ground.

'So, you do not want to charge her with assault?' Bill asked. Pat Stevens gave a gasp in shock. The four women looked at each other in dismay. This sounded serious. Little Patsy's eyes got round, and she crept up and held her Mum's hand.

'No, no.' Said Dan shaking his head with a red face. 'It weren't nuthin' really. Not really a hit. But Officer! I gotta clean up all this mess! These leafs get everywhere and mess up me garden!' Dan indicated his immaculate front yard, free of any leaf or grass blade out of place.

'May I see your permit, please?' Bill held out his hand.

'P-p-permit?' stuttered Dan.

'Yes. Your Burning Off Permit.' Replied Bill. 'Surely you are aware that you need a Permit to burn anything in the open air this time of year. It's been in Courier and notices in every letterbox. Part of the new clean air program and reduced fire risk endeavour.'

The women slowly lost their frightened looks, sneaky grins began to blossom on their faces.

'Uh, I thought that was only for farm and country-folk' said Dan warily.

Bill let his face become stone. 'You do not have a Permit?'

Dan shook his head 'no'.

'Are you aware that I could charge you? It is a serious fine for burning off without a Permit these days. Could even be some jail time.' Bill let Dan stew a bit.

'ahh...' Dan just stood there with his mouth agape. 'I didn't realise…' he looked about at the grinning ladies. 'You don't want me to go to jail, do you?'

'We just want you to stop burning the damn things!' said Pat Stevens.

Bill looked at the group and considered. It was too nice a day to spend inside writing up paperwork for such a trivial matter. Call it Community Policing he thought.

'So, Dan, you are not pressing charges?' Dan shook his head no.

'And do you promise to stop burning off without a permit, so these good ladies can get there washing done?' Dan nodded eagerly.

'You ladies don't want to make any formal complaint?' Bill asked turning to the Pat's and Helen. They all shook their heads no. They just wanted to get the washing on the line!

'Fine, that's settled then.' Bill declared.

'But what do I do with all these leafs?' Dan looked at the pile at his feet in confusion.

'Mulch.' Said Bill decisively. 'Me Gran' always said they made the best mulch on the flower beds. Looks like you could use some around those roses over there.'

Dan looked over at his rose bed and nodded slowly. Maybe Officer Hobart was right, the beds did look in need of a good water and mulch. He turned to Bill and grasped his hand and gave it a hearty shake. 'Thank you, Officer! Much appreciated!'

Suddenly Bill found himself surrounded by the women and young Patsy, all wanting to shake his hand and say thanks. His arm was fairly pumped off his shoulder by their enthusiasm.

As they were laughing and shaking his hand a man came running up to street towards them calling, 'Helen! Helen! Are you alright, Helen!'

Laughing, Helen Gustin turned to the man and took his arm. 'It's all good, dear! Come, meet the man who saved the day!'

She gave Bill a cheeky grin, 'Sergeant Hobart, it would please me greatly to introduce you to my husband. This is my husband, Patrick Gustin. We call him Pat.'

….

Wild


End file.
